Lost in Time
by MissFit-Luster
Summary: REVISED After her 13th birthday, Wendy begins letting go of her thoughts of Peter. She doesn't know that he has in fact returned - somehow growing up when he pledged not to - and that the two will fatefully meet again.
1. Blowing Out the Candles

**Chapter 1**: Blowing Out the Candles

At sunset, a light could be seen flickering from within a window of the Darling house. If by chance one was walking down the darkened street and peeked into the window, he or she would have seen what was indeed a most tender moment.

All eleven members of the Darling family were in the dining room, gathered around a massive cherry-wood table. Sitting at the head of it was a young girl wearing a pretty blue bow in her hair, as well as a smile that could hardly be distinguished between anxiousness and excitement. She peered over a cake, and thirteen lit candles brightened her face, casting a strange and beautiful sort of illumination on her rosy lips and glimmering baby blue eyes.

For Wendy Moira Angela Darling, turning thirteen was bitter-sweet. Of course, birthdays always called for celebration, and who wouldn't have looked forward to that? Her mother had spent all morning in the kitchen, baking the celebratory cake and cookies that were quite necessary for the right party. Nana had spent hours cleaning, so that Wendy might enjoy a day without having to trip over one of her brothers' stray toys. Of course, the poor nanny-dog huffed at even more cleaning she'd have to do, seeing as the boys had decorated the entire house with banners and glitter and confetti. And Wendy's father—he'd even set aside enough pounds to buy Wendy the most stunning pearl necklace and earring set she'd ever seen.

Still, Wendy could not revel as much as she would have liked. Though she tried so admirably to be grateful for the effort her family had put into her birthday, a series of unwelcoming thoughts crept like poison into her mind. Thirteen meant that she was to become a lady; it meant that she would soon be moved from the nursery to the small and drafty room across the hall; it meant that she would receive her first corset, and she could hardly think of being bond in the stomach. And alas, she was to begin her instruction with Aunt Millicent, who seemed ever eager to transform her into the ideal grown-up and bride.

But even these worries were trifles compared to one other realization—the one that Wendy had struggled with every night as she sat by the nursery window, as she looked from the star-peppered sky to her sleeping brothers, as she fell asleep on the sill and shivered in accordance to the nightly cold. She was thirteen, and it was decided—she would no longer wait. Besides, the nursery window had been barred, for Mr. and Mrs. Darling had recently discovered Michael and the Twins trying to fly out of it. And though she'd promised never to forget, Wendy knew very well that she could not fight growing up. And growing up _did_ mean forgetting.

So, even with these unsettling thoughts, she managed to plaster on a bright smile for her family. For her parents, who stood at the other end of the table, watching her admiringly; for her seven brothers, who were also looking on, pushing each other to get the best view of her; and for Nana, who sat watchfully on the floor next to her.

With one last look at the dancing lights on the cake, Wendy took in a deep breath and finally blew out the candles, and her hopes and memories of Peter Pan.


	2. Fading Memories

**Chapter 2**: Fading Memories

Now, at the exact moment Wendy was blowing out her candles, a young boy was returning from a long day of adventure. He flew into his cozy little house, which had been set upon the branches of the tallest tree in the jungle. Following him in was miniscule ball of light that glowed madly in the air and produced the faintest sound of bells.

If any grown-up had seen the boy as he was now, he or she most certainly would have let out a gasp of disapproval. His hands and bare feet were darkened with dirt, and his sun-kissed skin was flawed with cuts and scrapes. His rather charming face was smeared with red and blue paste, hinting at his attendance of a Piccaninny celebration. He was daintily covered in skeleton leaves, and his dirty-blond hair, highlighted here and there with golden streaks, was distastefully windswept. The cocky half-smile lying across his full lips undoubtedly would have sent Aunt Millicent into a frenzy, but it was precisely this smile that would have made any young girl's heart flutter—that, and a pair of deep blue eyes, which had an undying twinkle in it.

The boy stood proudly at the doorway with his hands firmly on his hips, scanning the one-room tree house. His brows furrowed a bit as he looked from the wood-planked walls, to the single square window, to the mossy floor. As silly as it might have seemed, and as many times as it had puzzled him, he could not remember how the little place had come to be. He certainly couldn't think of how he might have lifted it onto such high branches, lest he recall building it at all! But snap a finger, and know just how quickly the perplexing thought left his mind, for he'd grown much too accustomed to his forgetfulness.

"Another good day, hmm, Tink?" the boy asked the ball of light floating beside him.

A bell-like voice sounded in approval.

He offered the little fairy a satisfied grin before throwing himself onto a cot in the corner of the room. Tinkerbell took his cue and flew into a golden birdcage hanging above the bed. Lying stomach-down on a stack of leaves, she hung an ant-sized arm outside the cage, watching the boy's eyelids grow heavier and heavier.

Peter Pan lay contentedly in his bed, and all of Neverland slumbered peacefully with him that night.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

It was dawn in London, and Wendy was sitting up wide awake in bed. It was the day after her birthday, and only two weeks before school would start up again. She gazed about the dark room, where the first sun rays were beginning to shine through the barred window of the nursery. With a faint smile, she looked, one by one, upon her seven younger brothers sleeping soundly in their beds.

First, Nibs. He was, of course, one of Wendy's five adopted brothers, and the oldest of the Lost Boys. He was undoubtedly the brightest of all her other brothers, and was the last to accept Mrs. Darling's offer to be his mother. He had since cut his lengthy brown hair and cleaned up rather nicely, which many youthful girls in Bloomsbury seemed to have noticed. Nibs turned over in his bed, and Wendy moved on to her next brother.

Tootles was another of the Lost Boys, and was quite the opposite of Nibs. He was on the plump side, not the sharpest student in school, and the first to accept Mrs. Darling as his mother. He was a jovial boy and sociable among other children, and tried hard to please his parents, sometimes without success.

Then, there were the Twins. They were the youngest of the Lost Boys, and by far, the rowdiest. Together, they were more than a handful, and Mrs. Darling at times found it difficult to keep them in order. As typical twins, they often finished each other's sentences, which Wendy thought delightful. They loved to hear their sister's stories, and as such, it was one of the few times they were ever quiet.

Next was Curly. Of the Lost Boys, he found it the most difficult to assimilate with society. It took much bribing to let his wild, strawberry-blond hair be cut, and he initially despised the black slacks and collared shirts he was forced to wear. He had come a long way in just a year, however, and Mr. and Mrs. Darling knew he would get on quite well.

Wendy then moved her eyes upon the oldest of the brothers: John. He was one of Wendy's biological brothers, and she was beginning to think he was growing up much too quickly. He was only a year younger than his sister, yet he had already become the ringleader in suggesting to his brothers that Peter Pan might have only existed in their dreams. For the first few months, the boys continually denied such an idea. Nonetheless, it didn't take long before Wendy began to notice the hesitation in many of the boys' voices as they struggled to refute John's words.

Last was Wendy's other biological brother, Michael. He was the youngest of all the brothers, and for so long, the one Wendy admired the most. To her amazement, Michael seemed always to remember the smallest details of Neverland. He never ceased to correct his sister if she had misrepresented something in her stories of the island, and for so long, he was the one to encourage her of Peter's return. She knew he'd be the last to let go.

It would be Wendy's last day in the nursery. She watched her brothers breathing deeply in their sleep and slowly came to accept what was to come, as she felt, a real lady should.


	3. Dinner at Aunt Millicent's

**Author's Note: **Thanks so much for those of you who have reviewed. I'm a little under the weather today, but I still wanted to post the next chapter. >_sniff sniff_ > So here it is. And please continue to review, because they keep me writing!

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**Chapter 3**: Dinner at Aunt Millicent's

Wendy sat solemnly at the edge of her bed, carelessly twisting a lock of her honey-brown hair around her finger. With a deep sigh, she looked around the small room. It was only the third day, and she already detested it. Her new room was much too plain. The walls were a sickly yellow, and there was no painted sky on the ceiling as there was in the nursery. On the far wall, thin white curtains hung over a square window—one that couldn't compare to the tall, stained-glass window in the nursery. Scattered toys were replaced by a lady's simple furnishings—a bed, vanity, and wardrobe closet (where Wendy made sure she securely hid the acorn that was Peter's "kiss" amongst the foldings of her clothes).

On the two nights Wendy had spent in her new room, all her brothers (except John) had snuck in, pleading that she tell them a story. The first night, she agreed, and told them their favorite—Cinderella. But the second night, she sadly refused, deciding that it was no longer her place to tell such stories to them anymore. She also worried that their sneaking in might become an unruly habit. That night, the boys had walked sullenly out of her room, utterly disappointed.

Wendy was supposed to be getting ready for dinner at Aunt Millicent's house tonight. It was something the Darlings did once a month, for Aunt Millicent insisted that she did not get to see the family often enough. This was far from the truth, however. Aunt Millicent loved to drop by unexpectedly over the weekends, sometimes with Slightly, her own adopted Lost Boy, to "catch up" on things. Wendy could tell Mrs. Darling did not like it, but, as a real grown-up should, her mother always bared it with a warm smile.

None of the children, including Wendy, ever looked forward to dinner at Aunt Millicent's. Her constant nagging and watchful eye were just too much for them. On these nights, there was always a "Do I _have_ to go?" or a "I think I'm ill, may I stay home with Nana?" coming out of one or more of the boys' mouths. In fact, a perfect example of this was unfolding right outside of Wendy's open door.

The Twins had been sitting in front of Wendy's room in the hallway, playing with blocks, and Mrs. Darling just happened to by passing by.

"Boys," Mrs. Darling said gently when she spotted the two. She bent down to pick up the blocks. "You know you're supposed to be getting ready to go to Aunt Millicent's."

"But Mother," the Twins chimed in unison, "_must_ we go to dinner?"

"I don't think you want to sleep on empty tummies, now do you?" Mrs. Darling replied with a smile, stroking one of the Twins' cheeks.

"That's fine!" one Twin squeaked.

"_Perfectly_ fine!" the other added.

Just then, Mr. Darling came storming down the hall in a rage.

"Mary!" he roared, shaking a golden hand watch at Mrs. Darling. "For god's sake, I send my watch to the shop, pay them to repair it, and what do they do with it? Absolutely nothing! It's still broken!"

"Now, now, George," Mrs. Darling responded calmly, taking the watch in her hand while skillfully trying to hold the blocks in her arms. "Did you not check it when you went to pick it up?"

"That's not the point!" Mr. Darling exclaimed. "The point is that I paid the shop to fix it, and they didn't!"

"Mother, Mother," the Twins whined, tugging on either side of Mrs. Darling's silky blue dress. "We don't want to go to dinner."

"You must," Mrs. Darling answered, turning her stare from the steaming Mr. Darling down to the Twins. "Aunt Millicent wants to see you, and don't you want to see your cousin Slightly?"

"It's worthless!" Mr. Darling snarled, snatching the watch back from Mrs. Darling.

Finally, Nana came walking down the hall to help. Gently, she bit onto the tails of the Twins' shirts and pulled them away from their mother.

"Thank you, Nana," Mrs. Darling said with relief as the dog led both boys into the nursery to get ready. "Now, George," she said, turning back to her husband. "Give me the watch. I'll bring it back to the shop when I'm in town tomorrow."

Only then did Mr. Darling seem to calm down. After giving his wife a peck on the cheek, he handed her the watch and exchanged it for the blocks in her arms.

"I'll bring these back to the nursery," Mr. Darling told his wife in a much calmer voice.

"Thank you, dear," Mrs. Darling replied. "And do finish getting ready."

In a moment, they both dispersed from the hallway.

Much could be said about the couple. When it got out that the Darlings had adopted five children to add to their three, jaws dropped. Though they were a fairly respectable couple in society, many people initially could not see the pair's reasoning behind such an action. Nonetheless, it was quite a pleasant surprise when they discovered how well the Darling family seemed to get along.

Mr. Darling himself had since been promoted in his job to branch manager. Even though he still hadn't overcome his nervousness around the "important people," he managed to become acquainted with the right ones in order to get a higher position in the bank. He looked like the perfect middle-class businessman—always dressed in a suit, his black hair stylishly slicked back, and wearing the shiniest pair of black shoes ever seen. The money he brought home was enough to allow his large family to live comfortably enough, and he was very proud of this. He sent Wendy to the local girls' school in Bloomsbury, and the boys, likewise, to the local boys' school. He wished, however, that he could save up enough money to eventually send John, at least, to the distinguished London Boys' Academy, where all the wealthy fathers sent their aspiring sons. It was apparent that he hadn't quite learned to keep his temper under complete control yet, but his other half was his perfect balance.

Mrs. Darling was just what her husband needed. She was beautiful, comforting, mild, and intelligent. She was the only person to ever soften Mr. Darling's heart, and her children absolutely adored her. Mrs. Darling's friends admired her grace and often wondered how she could keep ground in a household such as hers. Even while keeping up with her eight children, she was able to look her best. She wore elegant, flowing dresses, and her chestnut-brown hair was always pulled into a twist, with a strand never out of place. There never appeared to be a hint of exhaustion in her face, which hadn't a single wrinkle of stress, and in her deep brown eyes, never with a light of tiredness. Wendy hoped she could be like Mrs. Darling when she grew up.

By the time the Darling family was clamoring out of the house, the chilly night had fallen to rain. Mr. Darling quickly got the carriage ready, and soon, they were off to Aunt Millicent's house.

* * *

Peter was in his tree house, lying tranquilly in his cot while playing a familiar tune on his pipes. Tinkerbell watched him lazily from a tiny bed in her birdcage, until she eventually fell asleep to his melodic music. By this time, Peter also felt sleep coming on, so he set his pipes down and rolled over in bed to rest.

Just before he gave in to the heaviness in his eyelids, however, Tinkerbell's glowing light suddenly reflected off something on the wooden table next to him. It caught his eye, and he sat up in bed, wondering what it was. At first, he could not see what it could be, but after brushing aside a cup and a few of his carvings, he spotted it.

There it was, perfectly conspicuous in the right hand corner of the table: Wendy's "kiss."

He picked up the small, dented thimble and rolled it around his fingers.

"Wendy," Peter whispered softly to himself, his lips discreetly shaping the sound of the name. He thoughtfully inspected the thimble. "I think now would be a good time for a visit. It must be weeks since I last saw her."

Weeks, indeed. Months, even truer. And a year, most accurate. But Peter could never be fully blamed for thinking it had not been so long ago since his last visit. Neverland was an island so greatly enriched with adventure that time could be lost too easily in its exotic jungles, crystal waters, and mystifying caves. Especially for a young boy.

Peter continued staring at Tinkerbell in speculation for a minute longer while calculating his decision.

"I'll be back even before she wakes up," he convinced himself. Once more, he looked from the thimble resting between his thumb and index finger to Tinkerbell sleeping peacefully in her birdcage. Then, with no further delay, he turned to the door for departure.

And it was as simple as that. Peter flew off into the starry night, tightly clutching Wendy's "kiss" in his hand. As he rode the humid Neverland wind higher into the sky, he could not see the mermaids' shadowy heads pop up from the glimmering surface of the lagoon, watching him drift away. And he did not see Tigerlily suddenly stop in her tracks in the middle of a ritual dance as she spotted him flying over the Indian territory. Peter's heart was set on paying Wendy a visit, but he was unaware that this night was the last time he would see Tinkerbell, or any of the island's inhabitants, for a long time to come.

* * *

"Oh, come in, come in!" cried Aunt Millicent, welcoming the Darling family into her old Victorian house. "You poor things. It's just pouring rain outside!"

The family gathered in the foyer and removed their soaked coats, shaking off the cold that had tinged their cheeks. Aunt Millicent made herself the proper hostess by discarding the wet jackets into a nearby closet, and just as she was doing so, a bouncy young boy came trotting down the stairs.

"Good evening, everyone," he announced, happily greeting the Darlings.

"Good evening, Slightly," Mrs. Darling said as the boy joined the family in the crowded foyer.

Loud chatter from Wendy's brothers soon followed. They all greeted their cousin excitedly, hoping to avoid confrontation with Aunt Millicent.

Now Slightly was quite the energetic youth. Of course, as a son of Aunt Millicent, he had been engrained with the most righteous mannerisms any stately young gentleman was expected to know. But the boy had not yet reached the age of adolescence, and when it came down to it (minus the nifty clothing and fine grooming), he had not changed a bit since his time in Neverland. He was still the smug and talkative fellow Peter and the Lost Boys had learned to know, and never once did he lose his sense of character, even when his beloved mother tried keeping him in check.

"Wendy, dear," Aunt Millicent said, resting a hand on her niece's shoulder. "How does it feel to be thirteen?"

"Oh, it's lovely," Wendy replied, hiding the lie with a polite smile. She stood uneasily as her aunt looked her over.

Aunt Millicent had the most piercing gray eyes and pursed scarlet lips. Her curly hair was as fiercely red as her temper was towards "uncivilized" people, and her strictly Edwardian style of dress, complete with tapestry-like material and gaudy beads, caricaturized the culture of society. Looking at her relationship with Wendy, it was clear that she desperately wanted a daughter of her own.

It was not long after everyone had settled themselves around the dining table that Aunt Millicent brought up the subject Wendy was dreading would come.

"I think it would be necessary to begin lessons with Wendy soon," Aunt Millicent directed Mr. and Mrs. Darling over her cup of cider. "She is now thirteen, after all."

"Yes, of course," Mr. Darling responded briskly. "I think that is a good idea, don't you, Mary?"

He turned to his wife, who was sitting passively across from him.

"Why yes," Mrs. Darling agreed, looking compassionately at her daughter down the table. "When do you suppose she starts?"

"Perhaps next weekend," Aunt Millicent answered without hesitation. "Now, I guess I'll have to work around her schedule, since school is soon to start up again. How does one hour every Saturday and Wednesday sound? It would fit in perfectly with my agenda."

"Saturdays and Wednesdays would be just fine," Mr. Darling said before taking a bite into a piece of broccoli.

"Now, I wanted to begin by getting her a corset," Aunt Millicent explained, getting up from her seat at the head table.

The boys, who had otherwise been distracted by their own conversation at the table, heard Aunt Millicent and began giggling.

Wendy watched as her aunt went to a nearby drawer and came back with a paper. She handed it to Mrs. Darling, who looked it over for a moment before giving it to Wendy.

Wendy read it unenthusiastically:

_W.B. corsets—made of the best and strongest materials. The new loop lacer is a vast improvement on the old brass eyelets which often corrode and soil the undergarments, and so thin is the lacing as to be hardly perceptible on the finest silk gown. Will give any lady the perfect S shape._

Wendy did not understand half of the statement in the advertisement, but did not make the effort to raise any question.

"How does it sound to you, Wendy?" Aunt Millicent asked from across the table.

Wendy faltered before answering, "Very fashionable."

"Good," Aunt Millicent said, apparently satisfied. "We'll go into town next Saturday to find one that will suit you."

Wendy forlornly sat back in her chair as Mrs. Darling gave her a sympathetic smile.


	4. The Tragedy

**Author's Note**: I'm pretty excited about the next few chapters, so I'll most likely be updating frequently. To kasmira36, hefalump, Zeldy, and kazemar-kaemi: Thanks for the reviews, they're very encouraging! Kasmira36, yes, my Wendy is quite sympathizing. She's a very sensitive girl! Lol…And although her brothers will show up in some of the chapters, it won't be too often because the focus is on Wendy and Peter. Okay, blah blah I'll stop babbling now. Hope you like this chapter.

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**Chapter 4**: The Tragedy

Peter soon broke through from space into the earth's atmosphere. He struggled to make his way between the thick clouds of fog, and when he finally saw the lights of London, he quickened his pace. As he flew over the city's rooftops, rain continually beat down on his body, which caused a chill to run down his spine. But the strong-willed boy shook off the coldness, and even had that irresistible half-smile resting upon his lips. Finding the house was more difficult than Peter had remembered, but when he spotted the gray figure of a tall, Victorian house sitting at the corner of a dimly lit street, he knew he had reached his destination.

Peter tightened his grip around the "kiss" in his hand.

He lightly landed on a towering tree in front of the Darling house and cautiously climbed up a branch that grew close to the nursery window. His heart was racing as he clambered higher up, and though he was soaked to the bone in rain, his body was flushed with warmth. It was at this unexpected moment, only an instant before he would peek through the window and reunite with his Wendy, that Peter finally realized just how much he had missed her. But what was this? The stripes of shadows draping over the window? The gray swallowing whole the vibrant colors of the stained glass? The rain blurring his vision must have been playing games with Peter. He blinked once and narrowed his eyes at the window.

No, he was not being fooled. They were there to welcome him. The bars. The cold, iron bars. Peter let out a few gasps before looking further into the nursery. But this, regrettably, was not any more encouraging. No light, no children, no laughing voices filled the room. Only empty beds, abandoned toys, and a murky darkness.

It was apparent to Peter what had happened, and he struggled to fight off the knot that was beginning to grow in the pit of his stomach. _They're gone_, he thought to himself. _They've forgotten me_. He gazed from the empty beds in the room to the bars on the window, and was brought back to the one time he had ever been afraid…

_He was flying over the Jolly Roger, and his arch enemy was floating before him with malevolence in his eyes._

_"She was leaving you, Pan," Captain James Hook's voice echoed in Peter's mind. "Your Wendy…was leaving you."_

_Peter looked down at the deck of the ship and saw his precious Wendy waving her sword at the attacking pirates._

_"Why should she stay?" Hook went on, seeing that Peter was unwillingly absorbing his malicious words. "What've you to offer? You are _incomplete

_Hook lunged forward, bringing his sword down on the boy._

Peter tried desperately to put the memory out of his mind, but it lingered.

_"I'm afraid the window's barred," came Hook's voice once more._

_"I'll call out her name!" Peter's own voice bellowed into his mind._

_"She can't hear you."_

_"No!"_

_"She can't see you."_

_"Wendy!"_

_"She's forgotten all about you."_

Suddenly, Peter lost his footing on the tree branch. He quickly tried to grab onto it, but the rain made it far too slippery, and his fingers fell away.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion, and yet, Peter could not stop it. As he hurled towards the ground, he frantically tried to think of a happy thought, but it was no use. The bars, the empty beds, the darkness, the vanishing faces, the fading voices all weighed him down, and they sent him crashing into the cold, stone street below. The "kiss" rolled out of his hand.

* * *

A hummingbird was whispering in his ears. He could hear the erratic _hum humming_. First, it was faint, barely even audible. But it soon became louder, more distinct, with two contrasting pitches. The undertone of humming slowly turned from a muddle of whispers into words, and then from words into sentences. Slowly, they filled his ears, and still in a state of darkness, he listened closely.

"We must take him to the authorities. Certainly they would know what to do with him."

"He must be an orphan. Just look at the poor boy."

"Yes, and he has most likely run away from his orphanage. He should return as soon as possible before he causes any more worry."

"Must we return him to a place he has just run away from, and inferably dislikes?"

"What are you suggesting, Elizabeth?"

"Please, dear…at least…at least let him rest for a while longer. God only knows what he's been through."

The dim shade veiling his eyes gradually gave way to a temperate, hazy light. A blur of muted colors came together, and at first, he thought he was staring up at a cluster of stars in the sky. For a moment, he remained still, glaring at the soothing colors and watching as rays of blue, pink, and yellow flounced before him. When he rubbed the mistiness away from his eyes, however, he found himself merely looking at a chandelier hanging from a lofty ceiling. Not quite what he had thought, but a fine-looking chandelier, nonetheless. He shifted his hands slightly, and felt a pleasurable fuzz of velvet at his fingertips. Not to mention a snug cushion on his back. How relaxing. Yet before he could surrender to his drowsiness once more, it suddenly hit struck him: Where _was_ he?

Quickly, and in a frantic, he sat up. He glanced across the room and spotted a man and woman sitting at a table, staring at him in alarm. He made a motion to stand up, but a sudden twinge in the side of his head nearly paralyzed him. He yelped and doubled over in pain as he felt the rest of his body begin to ache. Slowly, he lifted a trembling hand to his head, and his fingers were met by the cushion of a bandage. The broken boy groaned in distress.

"Oh, my dear child," the woman immediately arose from her seat at the table. She carelessly tugged at the skirt of her distended green dress, rushing to the boy lying helplessly on the chaise across the room. "Be still now," she ordered gently, kneeling down next to him.

Anxious, confused, and fretful, the boy cowered away from the woman, turning a cold shoulder and eyeing her suspiciously.

"Don't worry boy," the man at the table spoke as he unhurriedly arose from his seat. "We're trying to help you." He was unusually calm as he walked across the room, mindfully brushing the lint off the sleeves of his fashionable black coat.

"Are you alright?" the woman made another effort to speak to the nervous young boy.

The child was admittedly comforted by the lady's motherly voice and the empathetic concern in her calming hazel eyes, but still, he would not answer her.

"You must have taken a nasty fall there," the man stated from behind the woman, who was still kneeling next to the boy. "You're lucky we happened to by passing by in our carriage to spot you lying on the ground. What were you doing that could've given you such a vicious gash on your head?"

Once more, the boy touched the bandage on the side of his head. He rubbed it gently and furrowed his eyebrows in befuddlement, trying to hold back the tears swelling in his eyes.

"There, there child," the woman consoled the boy, taking his hand in her own. "Don't you worry. Everything will be alright." Tenderly, she wiped the tears that had just run from the corners of his eyes.

"He's just a bit dazed," the man assured, bending down next to the woman. He took a handkerchief from his coat pocket and brushed away more of the boy's tears. "Now then," he said seriously. It was as if he were a detective attempting to get down to the brass tacks of a mysterious crime. "Could you tell us what orphanage you came from?"

The boy did not answer the man. Instead, he continued whimpering softly, staring down through watery eyes at the cotton nightgown he just noticed he was wearing.

"Hmm," the man let out, watching the boy acutely. "Let's start with a simpler question, then. What's your name?"

Again, there was no answer. After a moment that was accompanied only by the sound of the child's quiet sobs, the woman finally spoke, lifting the boy's tear-drenched chin encouragingly.

"It's alright to tell us your name," she said kindly. "We won't harm you."

_That's not it_, the boy pouted in his head. _That's not it._

"Speak to us so that we might _help_ you, boy," the man asserted directly. "Tell us, where have you come from? Where is your home?"

The disturbed boy raised both of his hands to his head, wringing his ruffled hair in frustration. The shower of questions was sinking him further and further into a hole he could not escape. _Can't they see?_ He asked himself the questions that were resting at the tip of his tongue. _I have no answer. What am I supposed to say? What am I to say that will make them stop?_

"Oh, precious," the woman took the boy's hands away from his head and held them once more in her own. "Please tell us."

Slowly, the boy lifted his gaze upon the woman, and the compassionate gleam he spotted in her eyes finally let him speak.

"I-I…" he said in between a hiccup, trying to sort out any distinguishable thoughts in his clouded mind." I d-don't know."

"Don't know what, dear?" the woman asked hurriedly, tightening her grip on the boy's hands.

"I don't kn-know," the boy said again. His weeping had calmed considerably, although the hiccups were causing some pain in his chest.

"Don't know…?" the woman repeated slower. She looked to the man, who was studying the boy carefully.

"What is your name?" the man offered the question once more. This time, he leaned closer to the boy, as if it would help him get an answer.

But no answer came from the boy's mouth. Only a hiccup or two.

"Do…Do you remember?" the man inquired with extreme caution in his voice.

The boy hesitated before looking down and shaking his head.

"Thomas?" the woman addressed the man, removing her hands from the boy's without taking her eyes off him. She raised her fingers to her mouth.

Without speaking, the man stood up and lightly touched the wound on the boy's head.

"Has he…" the woman said with no attempt to finish her sentence. She looked fearfully up at the man.

"Yes, I'm afraid so, my love," the man answered as he stared down at the boy who was now biting his lip nervously and staring into his lap.

* * *

To much relief, and with a good deal of convincing from the wife, the couple that had found the orphan came to adopt him. The boy himself, fretfully confused and clueless, seemed to accept their offer quite gratefully. The naïve child did not know just how lucky he was to have been discovered by this particular pair, for they were one of the wealthiest couples in all of London.

Thomas Locke was a prominent doctor, and one that every patient in London wanted to be treated by. Of course, this generated for him much money, but as a sharp intellectual, he handled his money with modesty. His wife, Elizabeth Locke, was a kind lady, but she did not know _what_ to do with all the wealth her husband provided. She was always seen wearing the most elaborate jewels in her dark, curly hair, and when she wasn't off to another tea party, she busied herself by redecorating the countless rooms in the impressive Locke manor. The Lockes were a young, middle-aged couple, and with this came a sense of liberalism. This was perhaps one of the reasons why they had agreed to take in the orphan. They had no other children, and Mrs. Locke insisted that a son could be the perfect addition to the family.

It was not long before the boy noticed something a bit odd about the Lockes and their manor. Everything was always _shining_. Mr. Locke's slicked back hair, his teeth, Mrs. Locke's silky hair, the jewels laid precisely in her locks, the gold-trimmed chairs and tables, the marble floors—nearly everything. The only places where the boy did not see a shine were in his new parents' eyes. When he looked into them, he saw the outline of himself, but no shine.

And it would go on—the boy would become a Locke and, swimming in ignorant bliss, find a place in the elitist society.

* * *

An hour after the Lockes found the tattered boy, the Darling family returned home from dinner at Aunt Millicent's house. They filed into the front door, completely unaware of the tragedy that had recently befallen in front of their home.

In Neverland, a daisy in the forest slowly began to wilt.

* * *

Alright, that's all for now. Please R&R! 


	5. Wendy Lady

**Chapter 5**: Wendy Lady

Wendy sat at her vanity, staring at her own reflection in the mirror. She slowly turned her head back and forth, admiring the chandelier earrings dangling from her ears. She'd received them from her mother a couple of weeks ago for her sixteenth birthday, and was just now trying them on. She was pleased with the way they looked on her, and as the corners of her sweet, mocking mouth turned up in a faint smile, she saw an image of her own mother in the mirror.

Even with all the fuss Aunt Millicent had riled up, the charm and beauty lessons she conferred to Wendy appeared to pay off. Wendy had grown into a true lady. She looked, acted, and sounded like a respectable woman of society, and there didn't seem to be a remnant of a child left in her. Even her room, which had been carefully redecorated with velvety curtains and floral-printed wallpaper, displayed her transformation. The young women admired her friendliness and etiquette, and the young men adored her beauty and meekness, yet Wendy felt that something was missing. A fine English gentleman, Aunt Millicent had often insisted, would fill the gap in her niece's heart, but Wendy knew it was something beyond that.

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in," Wendy said, welcoming the guest to her room.

A second later, the door creaked open, and her youngest brother's head popped through the doorway.

"Umm, Wendy?" Michael said, walking tentatively into the room. "May I ask you something?"

"Yes, of course," Wendy replied pleasantly, turning in her seat to face her eight-year old brother. "What is it that you want to ask me?"

She held out her hands to Michael, who took them appreciatively.

"Can you, umm…Well _could_ you, that is…" Michael stammered.

As he fidgeted with his words, Wendy gradually fathomed what he was going to ask her.

"Do you think you could tell me…about Peter Pan?" he finally asked. "I-I think I might be forgetting."

With a sigh, Wendy let Michael's hands slip away from her own. She turned away from him and back to her reflection in the vanity mirror.

"I barely remember anything about him," Wendy said to her brother, trying to keep her voice steady. She stared into the mirror, fiddling with the loose curls of her hair.

"Oh…I see," Michael replied with a hint of disappointment. He lingered behind his sister as if he had more to say.

Wendy looked to her brother through the mirror and saw him with his head down, biting his fingernails nervously. Once more, she let out a sigh.

"Michael," Wendy said, reaching over to him and lifting his chin encouragingly. "It's been nearly four years. We can't hope to keep Peter Pan in our minds forever."

Michael nodded his head, still staring at the floor.

"Besides," Wendy added in a whisper, speaking more to herself than to Michael, "he will never return."

Wendy and Michael were both occupied in their own thoughts, and the room remained silent for a long time before Wendy spoke again.

"Why don't you see what the Twins are up to?" she suggested to Michael. "I'm sure they'd be of more interest to you than I could be."

"Alright," Michael answered miserably. He walked out of Wendy's room, leaving behind an air of hopelessness.

Wendy sat staring at her lap, her eyes following the intricate beadwork of her scarlet red dress. She did not mean to let Michael down so terribly, but she also did not want to be reminded of the one thing that took her so long to try and forget. Peter obviously forgot about her and her brothers, so why should they bear trying to keep him in their thoughts and hopelessly expect him to come back?

Later in the day, Wendy agreed to join her mother for tea at the home of the Susan Drake, whose family, for a long time, had been a good acquaintance to the Darlings. Wendy decided that she needed to get out of the house, and knew that if the "grown-up" conversation between Mrs. Drake and her mother got dull, she could always talk to Mrs. Drake's daughter, Catherine, who also happened to be Wendy's classmate.

And it was just as Wendy had expected. Only after her first cup of tea, she found it difficult to follow Mrs. Drake's conversation at the table. She, however, did not forget the table manners Aunt Millicent had taught her. She sat perfectly straight in her chair with an artificial smile on her face, occasionally nodding at whatever Mrs. Drake said, and she was extremely posh in making certain that she did not slurp while taking sips of her tea. Wendy had to admit, nonetheless, that she was quite relieved when Catherine, who was also sitting at the table with an aura of lackluster, suggested that she and Wendy remove themselves from the table.

"Mother, might Wendy and I move into the parlor?" Catherine politely interrupted her mother, who had been chatting on to Mrs. Darling about planning a tea party for the ladies of Bloomsbury.

"Oh, yes, if you'd like," Mrs. Drake replied with a quick glance to her daughter. "You two might be more comfortable there."

Mrs. Darling nodded in agreement.

"The tea was wonderful Mrs. Drake," Wendy complimented her host as she rose from her chair.

"Thank you, dear," Mrs. Drake said with a smile. "Catherine will show you into the parlor."

Wendy followed Catherine out of the dining area and to the parlor next door. She felt that she could relax a bit more now that she was with a fellow peer, and she wasn't as conscience about her posture as she took a seat next to Catherine on the parlor's oversized blue sofa.

"So how has the first week of school been for you?" Catherine asked, making herself comfortable on the sofa. "I myself have been dreading it from day one."

"It's bearable I suppose," Wendy answered with a little laugh. "Needlepoint classes _have_ been a bit-numbing, I must admit."

"A _bit_," Catherine said sarcastically. "Goodness, I can hardly stand it. And they say it will help us become proper women. I certainly don't see _how_."

"I suppose it's for the best," Wendy said with an amused smile.

Catherine shrugged her shoulders, and then asked curiously, "Have your parents begun seeking eligible suitors for you yet?"

Wendy remembered all the times Aunt Millicent had mentioned the subject to her parents. "Wendy must be commenced," her aunt had said. "She must attend more gatherings and meet fitting families and their sons. It's a crucial thing at her ripening age, you know." There was no doubt that Aunt Millicent already had a list of qualified young gentlemen at hand for Wendy.

"My parents have talked a little about it," Wendy told Catherine, understating the actual situation. "I haven't put much thought into it personally, however."

"Really?" Catherine said, clearly surprised. "My parents seem so concerned with it. I have a strong feeling they're hoping for Andrew Durham. Do you know him?"

"Yes, I think I recall meeting him once or twice," Wendy replied, remembering the tall, freckle-faced boy. "How do you like him?"

"He's fair, I suppose," Catherine answered unconvincingly. She paused for a moment, and breathed in a deep sigh before going on. "I…I suppose he likes me, what with all the roses and chocolates he sends to the house, but even so…"

"You _don't_ like him," Wendy supposed what Catherine was refusing to admit.

Catherine smiled hopelessly at Wendy.

"It's not that I _don't_ like him," she insisted, "I could grow to love him if it's what my parents truly wanted."

Wendy bit her lip anxiously. She wished she could tell Catherine just how terrible that had sounded.

Being forced into love? _Impossible_.

"Maybe…Maybe you just need more time with Andrew," Wendy offered a hollow piece of advice. "He might really be more than you expect."

Catherine simply nodded, dropping her eyes to the floor, and after a short pause, an impish smile formed across her lips.

Wendy let out a soft laugh.

"What might you be smiling so deviously about?" she asked Catherine, who looked back up at Wendy with the same grin.

"Wendy, I'll tell you who has _really_ captured my heart," Catherine said with a slight blush.

"Who?" Wendy grinned back at Catherine wonderingly.

"William Locke," the fluttering girl answered with a short giggle. "Big surprise, hmm? Just like every other girl in London."

"Do you mean the son of Doctor Thomas Locke?" Wendy asked, remembering the name being brought up by some of the girls at school.

"I'm sure you've heard other girls eulogizing him a countless number of times," Catherine said, "but can you blame us all?" She laughed while covering her mouth girlishly with her hand.

"I'm afraid I don't know much about him," Wendy admitted. "Besides the fortune I've heard he's to inherit."

"Oh, Wendy, he's charming," Catherine said, grinning. "He attends the London Boys' Academy. I hear he can be quite mischievous at times, but I don't think it ever gets _too_ out of hand. He's always dressed to impress and…he has a smile that can nearly _melt_ a girl's heart away. He even has a smart way with words, I must say."

"How so?" Wendy asked, furrowing her eyebrows with curiosity.

Catherine gave her a witty smile, and then explained, "I happened to run into him earlier today while I was in town with my mother…"


	6. The Charming William Locke

**Author's Note: **Hello dear readers! Thank you to WickedFaith, Shining Star of Valinor, Gemini Enchantress (dontcha just love that smirk? Hehe), kasmira 36 (every fairy tale ends in a happy ending, doesn't it? And who's story does mine remind you of?), Zeldy, YMM Starlet, StarrySkyAtNight, Stardrops (yes, Peter really lost his memory..so sad, isn't it? And he had a hard time remembering because although Neverland is such a wonderful place, it can make people forget things easily!), hefalump, and black-velvet-roses11 for reviewing! Oh, and I'm sure you're all wondering when, where, and how Wendy and Peter will meet (that is, if they ever do…muahahaha…), but I enjoy the build up of it, don't you? By the way, I think it's important to note that Peter will be known as William (for now, at least) for the sake of clarity. But _please_ always keep in mind that William _is _Peter. Don't start mindlessly thinking William is a totally different person, kay? Kay. Here we go…

**Chapter 6**: The Charming William Locke

"…The sword spun around twice at the tips of Nicholas's skilled fingers, and when he caught it securely in his hand, he pointed the blade directly at his enemy, who was pitilessly kneeling before him. 'Your day is done, Captain Crook,' Nicholas proclaimed as he pressed the tip of his sword against the bottom of Crook's chin. And then, with one mighty swing of his weapon, Nicholas relieved the old pirate…of his _head_!"

A young boy cried out in excitement.

William Locke stood on his bed holding a heavy silver sword high in the air, acting out the scene he had just portrayed. A cocked smile appeared on his face from the satisfaction in hearing his younger brother's purge of excitement, and he watched the little boy next to the bed, swinging his own sword in the air.

"Come on, Nicholas!" William yelled to his brother, gesturing him to climb onto the bed. "I challenge you to a dual!"

Nicholas looked up at William with sparks in his eyes.

"I accept!" he exclaimed daringly with a swift movement towards the bed.

But before the brothers could have at each other, their _ultimate_ enemy appeared.

Mrs. Locke stood at the doorway with her hands on her hips and her eyes nearly bulging out of her sockets.

"Uh-oh," William let out, suddenly not in the mood for a fight anymore.

He and Nicholas remained motionless for a moment, as if they'd been frozen by their mother's deathly glare. William was perched on top of his bed, with his sword held out in front of him, and Nicholas had his knee on the edge of the bed, having just attempted to climb onto it.

"What is the meaning of this?" Mrs. Locke demanded as she stared wide-eyed at her boys. "And for heaven's sake William, why are you standing on your bed with your _shoes_ on? Those are _satin sheets_ you're stepping on!"

"Oh, Mother, I was just telling Nicholas a story," William tried to explain to a fuming Mrs. Locke.

She did not concern herself with the words coming out of William's mouth, however. Instead, she looked to the objects in the boys' hands, and when she realized what they were, she marched toward her sons, pointing a protesting finger at them.

"Are those your father's antique swords?" she shrieked, snatching the one in Nicholas's hand.

"Ummm, well, yes…" William admitted, jumping down from his bed. "Father doesn't put much use to them anyhow…"

"Excuse me?" Mrs. Locke bellowed, taking the sword from William's hand. "You know how much these are worth, William! And do you know how dangerous it is for you and your _seven-year-old brother_ to be fooling with such weapons?"

"Please calm yourself Mother," William advised Mrs. Locke, laying his hand on her shoulder. "None of us are hurt, and besides, these blades are dull."

In an unexpected calmer tone, Mrs. Locke addressed Nicholas, who was standing by fully prepared to accept his punishment.

"Nicholas, go downstairs," she told him as she gently stroked his cheek. "Lunch is ready."

Without a word, Nicholas ran out of the room, relieved to have escaped any more chastisement.

"William, sit with me," Mrs. Locke ordered her son as she set the swords down and took a seat on his bed.

William sat next to his mother, knowing that she was going to attempt another of her "serious talks."

"You must stop telling your brother such…ghastly stories," Mrs. Locke said, properly fixing the collar of William's shirt. "They'll get to him, you know."

"I see no harm in stimulating a little boy's imagination," William tried to point out. "especially in this _un_interesting society."

William looked at his mother, who couldn't help but smile at the truth he spoke. He knew that somewhere deep down, she wanted to agree with him. It'd seemed to William that the birth of Nicholas had sealed his parents' fate—that from then on, they had to be the responsible adults required by any parent; that they could no longer be the young, feisty, fun-loving _friends_ William had come to know when he was first adopted by them. With time, however, he had noticed the spectrum, and how far he was drifting away from the end his family was set upon.

"I spoke with Ms. Winston yesterday," Mrs. Locke said, uneasily moving away from the previous subject. "She told me she found you sleeping in her class last Friday."

"I wasn't sleeping," Peter told Mrs. Locke, moving his eyes back and forth as if he were physically searching for an excuse. "I was just…"

"Resting your head?" Mrs. Locke offered with a tone of amusement. "And speaking of last Friday, it was a bit odd how you were nowhere to be seen in the house when Mr. Blankworth came for your piano lessons."

"Do you really think I need lessons _every_ Friday?" William asked.

Mrs. Locke sighed, affectionately running her fingers through William's short, dark blonde hair.

"Yes, I _do_ think so," she replied hopelessly. "William, you're sixteen years old. Don't play such games with me."

William was becoming more and more uncomfortable the longer he sat with his mother. He _hated_ these kinds of conversations.

"Mother," he suddenly said to Mrs. Locke in a pleasant tone that, in the least, did not seem to fit that of the current discussion. "You know what you're missing?" He gave Mrs. Locke a clever smile.

"What's that?" Mrs. Locke asked, looking down at her beaded black dress.

"You're missing a nice pair of earrings to go with that outfit," William said, getting up from the bed. "In fact, I think I'll go to the jewelry shop right now and find the finest pair for you."

And with that, William started off.

"But-William, wha-" Mrs. Locke tried to say, but her son was already gone out the door.

"Oh heavens," she whispered to herself, laying a hand on her forehead. "That boy…"

Within a blink of an eye, William was dressed in his black overcoat and favorite derby hat, heading out the front door of the Locke manor. He made his way casually down the street and whistled a familiar tune as he turned the corner, heading towards the homes of his two best friends.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"I hear they're thinking about making boxing a legal sport."

"I suppose that's a good thing for you, Abe. You could finally put you're 120 pound body to use, eh?"

"Oh yes. And you'd be put to good use as well. I'm going to need a good punching bag."

"I'd like to see you _try_ and make me a punching bag. If we had a boxing match, I put you in your damn place!"

"Ha! Henry, if _we_ had a boxing match, you'd be as good as a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest! Ha ha! What do you think, Will?"

William looked at his two best friends, who were pushing each other down the street, and laughed at how dense they both sounded.

"What do I think?" William repeated the question his companion had posed. "I think I'd knock both of you out before you even knew what hit you."

It must be said that when William, Abram, and Henry were together, impish behavior was present. Ever since the first day the three boys had met each other at the London Boys' Academy and discovered their shared mischievous demeanors (not to mention their rebellion against "high society" manners), they'd been inseparable. As the sons of wealthy businessmen, Abram and Henry were allowed many of the luxuries William also had. Henry, however, was the only one of the three who hadn't protested when his parents insisted he go to an office for work. And when the other two had mocked him for it, he shut them up with a simple, "I'm not going to be a spoiled daddy's boy forever, you know."

Truth be spoken.

"What did you drag us out here for anyway?" Henry asked as he struggled to fight off Abe, who continued to shove him as they strolled down the street.

"I need to go to the jewelry shop for my mother," William replied as he casually tipped his hat to a young lady, who walked past him with a mad blush. "I have to get a pair of earrings for her."

"Oh, so you brought us along for another bribery extravaganza, did you?" Abram scoffed as he stopped jostling Henry to nudge William.

"What happened _this_ time?" Henry questioned William, who was already chuckling and shaking his head with the thought of what had happened at home.

"Hmm, where should I start?" William said comically, almost as if he was proud of the fact. "She found me with my father's antique swords, she spoke with Ms. Winston about my falling asleep, she knows I missed last week's piano lesson—"

"Right, we get the point," Abe pitched in as the three turned into the small jewelry shop.

"Afternoon boys," an old man behind a case of glimmering silver and gold greeted them. "How can I help you today?"

"Good day," William said. "I'm looking for a nice pair of earrings for my mother."

"Oh, I'm sure I have just the pair," the salesclerk assured as the boys made their way towards him. "Why don't you have a look at this fine selection here?" He rested his hand on top of the glass case in front of him.

"Indeed, a fine selection," William insisted as he scanned the extravagant jewelry before him. "Wouldn't you say?" He looked to Henry and Abram, who were leaning against the case indifferently.

"Oh, yes," Henry answered uninterestedly. "A _fine_ selection."

"Good afternoon there ladies," the salesclerk said, looking over William's shoulder to greet some newly arrived customers.

William turned to the door and saw a girl standing meekly beside a middle-aged woman, who was undoubtedly her mother. As soon as the girl noticed William, she smiled and began twisting a lock of her hair nervously, which only seemed to egg William on. A half-smile appeared on his face as the girl eyed him shyly, and he nodded to her chivalrously.

"Young man," the middle-aged woman suddenly demanded, breaking the eye contact between William and the girl. "I would suggest you cease looking upon my daughter in such a way."

William thought fast.

"Oh, I greatly apologize, miss," he spoke without faltering. "I was actually admiring your earrings." He turned to the salesclerk and addressed him. "I would like to get my mother a similar pair. Those earrings look just marvelous on that lady." He said it just loud enough for the lady and her daughter to hear.

The lady's long face crunched up in confusion before turning into one of embarrassment.

"Oh…I…well," the woman stammered, "I greatly apologize then. I thought you were…well…goodness…"

William pressed his lips tightly together, trying to hold back a threatening laugh. Abram and Henry seemed to be doing the same.

"I'll be with you in a moment Mrs. Drake," the salesclerk told the lady, putting her out of her misery.

"That's fine," the lady answered. "We'll just look around a bit. Come, Catherine."

The girl followed her mother further into the store, softly giggling. As she made her way by William, the witty boy turned out his hand just enough so that his fingertips grazed the front of the girl's own hand.

Instinctively, the girl drew her hand back towards her chest, but when she realized William's sly gesture, she looked over her shoulder and smiled shyly at him.

"Some cleverness there, Will," Abram whispered with a little laugh.

"Sir, how about this pair?" the salesclerk asked William.

_Oh right_, William thought, _the earrings_.

He turned back around and looked at the pearl earrings the salesclerk had just pulled out of the case.

"Perfect," William told the salesclerk. "Just perfect."


	7. Thinking Rebellion vs Speaking Rebellion

**Author's Note**: Hey readers! Happy New Year! I hope you all had a good holiday. I'm starting school again tomorrow (wah!), which means I won't have much time to update anymore. To make up for it though, I'm posting TWO chapters today, which I hope you'll like.

**Chapter 7**: Thinking Rebellion vs. Speaking Rebellion

It was a Wednesday afternoon, which meant that Wendy was spending her time after school with Aunt Millicent. Their lessons together were quite strict when they first started out. Every Saturday and Wednesday, Wendy would receive austere instruction at her aunt's house, learning proper speech, posture, dress, table etiquette, and anything and everything else a lady was expected to know and practice. Nowadays, however, Wendy's hourly sessions with Aunt Millicent were much looser, often consisting of an outing to the local tea house, where Wendy was obliged to sit through the conversations between Aunt Millicent and her gossipy friends. The busybody aunt claimed that these outings were important parts of Wendy's lessons. Accordingly, she had insisted that they would teach Wendy to socialize with other proper women, but it was clear to Wendy that their "lessons" at the tea house simply served as a time for Aunt Millicent to catch up on all the town's gossip, rumors, and scandals. It seemed that today was no exception.

"Wendy?"

The jaded teenager, who had been staring blankly through the window at the throngs of people walking down the street, suddenly turned to the three other women at the table when she heard her name.

"Yes?" she uttered politely, unsure of who might have called her name. She glazed quick glances upon Aunt Millicent and her two stately-looking friends, who were watching her closely.

"Wendy, answer Beatrice's question," Aunt Millicent ordered.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Wendy apologized to the plump woman sitting across from her.

"That's quite alright," Beatrice answered with a chuckle. "I was simply asking how school has been." She took a sip of tea, looking at Wendy over the rim of her porcelain cup.

"It has been going well," Wendy answered almost mechanically. "I enjoy it very much."

"Do you?" Beatrice asked with a smile. "What is it you enjoy doing most?"

"Well, I do enjoy writing," Wendy explained, keeping Aunt Millicent cautiously in mind, "although I did finish the course last year."

Beatrice nodded her head, shifting her eyes slightly.

"Is that what you want to do when you're older, then?" the woman next to Wendy asked. There was a combination of amusement and disapproval in her voice.

Before Wendy could answer, Aunt Millicent let out an uneasy laugh.

"Wendy—a _novelist_?" she proclaimed, still laughing. "Of course not, Rose!"

The woman next to Wendy rolled her eyes and shrugged her shoulders at Aunt Millicent before curtly raising her teacup to her pursed lips.

Wendy stared down at the tea leaves floating at the bottom of her own teacup and bit her tongue. She wished terribly that she could stand up to Aunt Millicent at that instant and tell her for a fact that she _was_ going to become a novelist. It had been Wendy's dream for several years, but, greatly for Aunt Millicent's sake, one that she had buried under her growing adulthood. How did it come that Aunt Millicent was the ruler of Wendy's life, anyway? Must Wendy always follow all that her aunt said? And if she didn't, what was the worst anyone could do to her?

To any thoughtless outsider looking in at the women at the table, Wendy certainly looked attentive towards the conversation that continued on between Aunt Millicent and her friends. But a precise observer would have seen that Wendy was only robotically watching the mouths of the women chatter on incessantly, and that a rather mischievous little smile appeared on her face—a kind of smile that surely could not have been generated by the conversation at the table. The truth of it was that Wendy was smiling at the thought of rebellion. It would have been nothing for Aunt Millicent to feel threatened about (for it was merely a _thought_, and an obedient character such as Wendy would hardly act upon it), but, nonetheless, it seemed to amuse Wendy for the moment.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

William slumped down groggily in his chair at the dining table, yawning and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Like always, he was the last to join his family at the table for dinner.

"I surely hope you were doing your homework and not sleeping just now," Mrs. Locke told William from one end of the table as she smoothed out her napkin over her lap.

"Of course I was doing my homework," William insisted as he fiddled with the silver fork next to his plate. "It's just that I have so _much_ of it, it's made me sleepy."

"What's for dinner?" Nicholas piped in from his seat across the table, where he was moving about restlessly in his chair. "I'm hungry."

"Sit still now, Nicholas," Mrs. Locke ordered gently. "Dinner is coming in a moment."

As if in response to Mrs. Locke, a side door leading to the kitchen swung open, and several servants came through, each holding silver platters of food. Nicholas sat up in his seat and licked his lips as he watched the chicken, stew, and potatoes being set down before him.

"William, how was school?" asked Mr. Locke, who had otherwise been sitting noiselessly at the head table.

William took his eyes off the plate he was filling with food and looked at his father with a hint of confusion on his face. Mr. Locke rarely initiated a conversation with his sons at the dinner table. In fact, there were even days when he didn't speak a single word to William or Nicholas. And it certainly was not because he was an unloving father (he was far from it), but because he was always caught up in his own one-track mind. So when he asked this question, William suddenly felt an unexplainable tension at the table.

"It was…good," William answered after a moment. "I think I did well on the math exam I had today."

"Good, good," Mr. Locke replied, nodding his head and furrowing his eyebrows as if he were deep in thought.

A long and awkward silence followed, and William eyed his parents at either end of the table suspiciously. Mrs. Locke cleared her throat a few times to try and break the uncomfortable mute spell, but it was Nicholas who finally relieved some of the tension.

"Mother, may I have dessert?" he asked, wiping his greasy mouth with the back of his hand.

"No, dear," Mrs. Locke said, cocking her head to the side and smiling gently at Nicholas. "You haven't touched your potatoes yet. Once you finish your dinner, you may have dessert…And please use your napkin to wipe your mouth."

Nicholas frowned at his mother's words, but went to eating the heap of potatoes on his plate.

Before another discomfited silence could arise, Mr. Locke let out a deep sigh and set down his utensils at the edge of his plate. At this point, William knew his father was about to let out a few heavy words.

"Your mother and I have been planning a dinner with Sir Edward Quiller Couch and his family," he informed William, who discovered what was coming as soon as his father said these words. "We think it would be proper for you to become better acquainted with them at this time."

"Jacqueline…," William mumbled, poking at the half-eaten chicken breast on his plate.

"Jacqueline Couch would be a suitable young lady, William," Mr. Locke claimed. "Her father is the president of the bank, and you would indeed be well-off together."

William continued staring down at his plate and prodding at his food, becoming further dissatisfied the more he thought about the spoiled Couch daughter. He remembered meeting her once or twice at parties and, unlike many other boys, was unimpressed. He despised the way she flaunted her fancy dresses and excessive jewelry, and the way she walked with her nose high in the air. To think of Jacqueline as a wife nearly gave William chills down the spine.

"And she is such a pleasant girl," Mrs. Locke tried to assure William, seeing his lack of enthusiasm. "You remember meeting her several times at some of the gatherings, don't you? She is beautiful, and certainly well-mannered."

"Not to mention her idiocy and an ego she can barely fit through the doorway," William added, looking to his mother with disgust.

"Oh come off it, boy," Mr. Locke stated almost humorously. "Her ego can't be any bigger than your own."

"William," Mrs. Locke said, disregarding her husband's side-remark, "_many_ suitors could only _dream_ of making Jacqueline Couch their bride."

William darted his eyes up at Mrs. Locke, dropping the fork he'd been gripping onto his plate with a loud clank.

"Bride?" he let out, sitting up in his seat. "_Bride_? Who ever said anything about a bride?"

"William, at your age you know perfectly well that marriage is apt at this time," Mrs. Locke tried to explain calmly. "You've grown into a fine young man, and you're nearly ready to be a husband."

William looked back down at his plate, shaking his head in denial.

No. He _wasn't_ grown up yet. He _wasn't_ ready to be a husband. It was much too fast. _Much too fast_.

"How could this happen?" William suddenly demanded, looking from his father to his mother with frustration. "I've _never_ recalled you speaking of marriage, and to spring this on me so suddenly isn't right."

"We know what is best for you, William," Mrs. Locke replied with a steady voice. "And I understand you must be a bit nervous, but it's nothing to be afraid of or to try and avoid. It's all for the best."

"It's not about being afraid!" William's voice echoed off the walls in the room. "I'm…I'm not afraid. But if you insist on doing this to me, why couldn't you have given me a say in the girl I am to spend the _rest of my life_ with?"

"Your father and I had an arranged marriage," Mrs. Locke responded unflinchingly, "and I certainly could not have asked for a better life."

"Well I'm _not_ Father," William shot back through heavy breaths, "and Jacqueline is _not_ you!"

"William," Mr. Locke pitched in unexpectedly with a commanding voice, "I would suggest you cease taking that tone with your mother. And whether you like it or not, you will join us for dinner with the Couchs."

"And what if I don't?" William looked his father dead in the eye.

"Impossible," Mr. Locke answered, coolly sweeping some potatoes from his plate onto his fork. "As long as I'm your father and you're living under my roof, you will follow my rules and do as I say." He took the potatoes into his mouth and continued eating as if everything was normal.

That made William furious as ever.

"Well sometimes your rules are just asking to be rebelled against!" William responded angrily, forcefully pushing his plate away from him. His chest was heaving up and down heavily, and his face was red with fury.

A long moment of silence followed. William glanced across the table at Nicholas and suddenly became very aware of him. Nicholas had never seen his older brother so angry before, and it was clear that he was taken aback. William peeled his eyes shamefully away from his little brother, immediately feeling guilty for acting in such a way in front of him. He threw his chair back and finally disappeared from the room, leaving the rest of his family at the table with a feeling of misery hanging in the air.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"How were your lessons with Aunt Millicent today?" Mrs. Darling asked her daughter from across the dinner table.

"Oh it was torturous!" Curly answered comically over his dinner plate, speaking in a high-pitched voice that was a sorry attempt to imitate a girl's voice. "First, she made me practice fixing my hair, and then she made me practice eating with my mouth closed, and _then_ she made me try on these horrid corsets and dresses!"

Wendy and her brothers laughed along with Curly, who was chuckling with amusement at his own joke.

"Quiet down," Mr. Darling told his children from the head of the table. "Curly, we don't need such remarks from you."

"Curly and the other boys simmered down, but leaned over their plates, still giggling and eyeing each other drolly.

"Lessons were fine," Wendy finally answered her mother, still smiling at Curly's words. "We went to the tea house again."

"How nice," Mrs. Darling replied pleasantly as she reached over the table to fix Michael another serving of food. Wendy noticed that she was eyeing Mr. Darling, and knew that something wasn't quite right.

"Wendy," Mr. Darling finally addressed his daughter, clearing his throat and setting his utensils down. "We know how much work you've put into school and your lessons with Aunt Millicent, and your mother and I think you should be rewarded for this."

"Why…thank you," Wendy answered somewhat hesitantly. "How so?"

"Well," Mr. Darling went on, "we know how much you've always wanted to see the opera, and since Giacomo Puccini is here in London…" His voice trailed off when he saw by her lighted eyes that Wendy was catching on.

"Oh, Madame Butterfly!" Wendy exclaimed, clasping her hands together. "Are we going to see it?"

"Yes, dear," Mrs. Darling answered with a wide smile. "You will join your father and me at the Royal Opera House next Friday evening."

"Oh, it's more than I could have asked for!" Wendy cried out as she jumped up to hug her mother. She was quite caught up in her excitement. "Thank you, Mother! And Father!" She rushed over to the other end of the table to hug Mr. Darling.

"What about us?" Nibs asked as he and the boys watched Wendy hop up and down in elation. "Do we get a reward as well?"

"Don't you worry," Mrs. Darling assured her boys. "You too will all be rewarded when you get older."

Wendy sat back down and returned to her dinner, still with an aura of thrill around her. She felt like the luckiest girl in all of London, for it wasn't often that her family went to any "high society" gatherings. The opera was undoubtedly _the_ social outing for the wealthy, and next Friday evening, Wendy would be seen among this privileged crowd. And not only that, she would be watching one of the most praised operas by one of the most praised composers. An opportunity that she never once thought would come was being given to her, and she felt like she was floating on a cloud that night.


	8. A Night at the Opera

**Author's Note**: Phew! I'm rolling along here! Lol. I think that you'll enjoy this chapter. It's the one I know you've all been waiting for, and the one that I've been building all my other chapters up for. Yes, Peter and Wendy are finally being reunited! Do you know the plot of _Madame Butterfly_? I found that if it's twisted a bit, it could stand parallel to the situation between Peter and Wendy. And there will be actual scenes from _Madame Butterfly_, just an FYI. Anyway, here it is. Enjoy.

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**Chapter 8**: A Night at the Opera

_Cinderella sat eagerly in her pumpkin carriage, wringing her gloved hands in her lap. Her flowing periwinkle dress cascaded elegantly down the seat, and the streetlamps' light continually came through the window and reflected off her dazzling jeweled necklace. She brushed a curl of hair away from her face and leaned towards the window, her eyes widening as she eyed her destination. There it was, standing in all it's might and glory—the Castle, where her prince charming was eagerly awaiting. The carriage came to a stop, and soon after, the door swung open. A gentlemen's hand appeared at the doorway, and Cinderella took it as she gracefully stepped out of the carriage in her glass slippers._

Certainly Wendy hadn't been riding in a pumpkin carriage, or going to a Castle to meet a prince, or even wearing glass slippers, but this Friday night, she couldn't help but feel like Cinderella. As she stepped out of the carriage with her parents, she stared in awe at the opera building before her, and all the regal-looking men and women surrounding it. She followed her parents through the crowd, Mr. Darling occasionally nodding or offering a nervous "hello" to a few people, until they were finally standing in the grand theatre of the Royal Opera House.

"Oh, Mother, it's absolutely stunning," Wendy whispered to her mother as her eyes gazed from the stylishly carpeted floor to the massively high ceiling.

"Isn't it?" Mrs. Darling insisted, gently squeezing her daughter's arm with enthusiasm.

"Our seats are there," Mr. Darling said, pointing to an area of the floor seating that was about ten rows back from the stage.

To Wendy's delight, their seats were right in the middle of the row. She sat down with her parents and watched as others slowly began to fill the theatre. Women in swollen dresses clung onto the arms of their spouses, and the men walked with their chests out like royalty. Everyone was dressed impressively, and Wendy smiled at the beauty of it all, almost as if she were star-struck.

* * *

William sat in the carriage with his arms crossed and with a wretched expression on his face. He avoided any eye contact with his parents, who were sitting in their finest clothes across from him, and instead, stared out of the window with melancholy. He still hadn't gotten over their whole confrontation at dinner a few nights ago, and didn't hope to make up with his parents any time soon.

William felt the carriage slow down, and he saw the Royal Opera House standing a few yards away. He sat up straight in his seat and brushed the lint from his coat, letting out a sigh.

"Tell me why you've brought me to this opera again?" William asked his parents with a nasty attitude that certainly would not have flown with Aunt Millicent.

"Because," Mr. Locke snapped back with an equally unpleasing tone of voice, "we've been specifically invited to the show, and it would have been rude for you to decline it."

The carriage door opened, and a gentleman held out his hand to Mrs. Locke to help her down.

"William, please leave the attitude behind when we walk through those doors," Mrs. Locke stipulated before taking the man's hand. "There will be very important people at this opera, and the last thing we need is for you to be ill-mannered in front of them."

Without another word, William followed his parents out of the carriage and among the host of people near the building's entrance. It took at least a half an hour for the Lockes to finally take their seats in one of the stately balconies, which were precisely reserved for the most honorable (and wealthiest) viewers. They were continually stopped by groups of people who wanted to chat, and of course, Mr. and Mrs. Locke could not give up the chance to socialize with their noble companions.

When they did finally settle into their seats, however, William gladly welcomed the comfort of his cushiony, velvet chair, and was pleased with the splendid view of the theatre. He sat idly in his seat and watched the people below scurry like ants into their places as a trumpet signaled that the show was soon to begin. Soon all seats were filled, but just as the curtains were opening and William was about to turn his attention away from the audience, a girl sitting several rows back from the stage caught his eye. He couldn't quite see her face from his angle, and he didn't know exactly why she was so noticeable to him, but he watched as she sat prettily in her chair, with her hands folded neatly in her lap, and as she slightly leaned forward in anticipation when the first scene began.

_The curtain opened to a Japanese house, with its terrace and garden. A bay, harbor, and town were in the background. From a back room Goro, a marriage broker, led in Pinkerton, an American who just became the new master of the house._

William smiled as he continued watching the girl below and her evident fascination with the scene. He'd bet that it was her first time at an opera.

_"The whole world over, on business and pleasure," Pinkerton said, "the Yankee travels all danger scorning. His anchor boldly he casts at random, until a sudden squall upsets his ship, then up go sails and rigging. And life is not worth living if he can't win the best and fairest of each country, and the heart of each maid."_

William saw the girl smile and whisper to a middle-aged woman next to her, who nodded in agreement with whatever she might have said.

_Sharpless, the American Consul, replied, "Your theory is an easy gospel which makes life very pleasant, but is fatal in the end."_

_"This quaint little girl seems to have stepped down straight from a screen," said Pinkerton, "and is so like her namesake the butterfly that a wild wish had seized me to rush after her, though in the quest her frail wings should be broken."_

_"Surely, love that is pure and true speaks like that," Sharpless insisted. "It were indeed sad pity to tear those dainty wings and perhaps torment a trusting heart."_

William half-mindedly watched the show, but recurrently glanced down upon the girl, who seemed so captivated by the scenes being acted out before her.

_"You are my Butterfly," Pinkerton told the young and fragile Japanese girl._

_"They say in your country," Butterfly spoke, "if a butterfly is caught by a man, he'll pierce its heart with a needle and leave it to perish."_

To William's surprise, the girl somehow seemed to have noticed that he was looking at her, for she momentarily peeled her eyes away from the stage and locked stares with him. She appeared to think nothing of it, however, and went on watching the performance.

_"He promised to return with the roses," said Butterfly, "the warm and sunny season, when the red breasted robins are busy nesting."_

In his mind, William hoped that she would look up at him again, so that he might get a better look at her face.

_Pinkerton and Sharpless entered the doorway. Suzuki, Butterfly's maid, saw a lady in the garden and demanded, "Who's that?"_

_Sharpless replied simply, "His wife."_

_Butterfly entered, saw the woman, and clearly knew._

William saw the girl put her gloved hand to her cheek and slightly shake her head in disbelief.

_A knife was heard falling. Butterfly emerged with a white veil around her neck, and struggled to make her way towards her child. Pinkerton was heard outside calling "Butterfly," the door was thrown open, and Pinkerton and Sharpless rushed in. The dying Butterfly pointed to the child and breathed her last._

William leaned forward in his chair. Was that a tear he saw streaming down the girl's cheek?

_Sharpless took the child in his arms, Pinkerton fell to his knees, and the curtain descended._

* * *

After the performance, it was a custom that everyone congregated in the lower hall of the building for an "after-show" gathering, and Mr. Darling felt that it would be the perfect opportunity to socialize with the posh community, as Aunt Millicent had insisted. So the Darling family entered the hall, seemingly unnoticed, and almost immediately, Wendy could sense her father's uneasiness.

"Perhaps we should introduce ourselves to some people," Mrs. Darling encouraged her husband, was who staring about the room dazedly.

"Y-yes, let us introduce ourselves," Mr. Darling agreed, straightening his stance and fixing his coat.

Wendy watched admiringly with a smile as her mother softly kissed Mr. Darling's flushed cheek and whisper in his ear. This seemed to give him a bit more confidence, for a grin appeared on his face, and it looked as if he'd just let out a breath he had been holding upon entering the hall. Mrs. Darling wrapped her arm around Mr. Darling's own, and Wendy followed close behind as her parents made their way towards the nearest group of people.

* * *

"_Madame Butterfly_ is just marvelous. Puccini successfully created an opera like no other, I must say."

"Yes, the simple plotline, the rich characterizations of Pinkerton and Butterfly—just outstanding."

"It's only sad that an English composer could not have written it. Florid and effeminate Italian airs are the only true method of operatic composition, it seems. The English style of composition is just too vigorous and bold for the times."

"Which is why much native talent gets overlooked and ignored. Surely we cannot compare to the composers of Italy and Germany."

William stood inertly by his parents as they mingled with their acquaintances. It was not surprising that the current discussion between his parents and their circle of colleagues did not captivate him, and after a while, his gaze began wandering about the crowded hall. He looked upon the people in the room uninterestedly, and amused himself with the thought that he would spot the girl he'd seen from the balcony. _I'd have been better off staying home with Nicholas and the nanny_," he thought to himself, letting out an imperceptible groan. Feeling quite on edge, he shifted his weight from one side to the other.

As William turned his attention back to his parents and their circle of friends, he noticed a gentleman lingering oddly behind the group. The man kept clearing his throat, and it was clear to William that the stranger was hoping someone within the group would take notice of him. When William looked to his parents and the others, however, it was evident that they had failed to do so.

William nudged Mr. Locke's arm, still eyeing the man curiously, and whispered, "Father, I think that man wants to join in on the conversation."

Mr. Locke, who had otherwise been absorbed in the discussion circulating within the group, followed his son's gaze to the strange gentleman. He furrowed his eyebrows at the man for a short time, but then politely called out to him.

"Good evening, sir," Mr. Locke spoke over the chatting in the group.

Mr. Locke's colleagues turned their attention on him with confusion for a moment, but then realized that he was greeting a man standing outside of the group.

"Oh, g-good evening," the man replied nervously, adjusting the spectacles over his piercing blue eyes.

A fair woman appeared by the side of the man, smiling gently at Mr. Locke and the rest of the group. William remembered seeing her from the balcony.

"Won't you join us?" Mr. Locke insisted after an uneasy silence.

The group opened their circle, making room for the man and his wife. They stared silently at the gentleman before them inquiringly, and Mrs. Locke raised an eyebrow at him when he ceased to introduce himself.

"I am Thomas Locke," Mr. Locke offered, seeing that no one else was going to make the effort of proper introductions. "May I introduce my wife Elizabeth, and my son William."

Mrs. Locke and William both nodded their heads politely without saying a word.

The rest of the group finally followed Mr. Locke's lead, and proceeded to introduce themselves to the unknown couple, although somewhat hesitantly.

"It's a pleasure to meet all of you," the man's wife spoke with poise. She smiled, and William noticed that she pinched her husband's side gently with encouragement.

"Oh! Yes, yes," the man responded with a tense chuckle. "I am George Darling. This is m-my wife Mary, and h-here is my daughter Wendy."

Mr. and Mrs. Darling parted from each other, and a sweet young lady appeared between them with a gracious smile and her white-gloved hands folded shyly in front of her.

And it is here that William was finally allowed a complete vision of the girl that had caught his eye. _Wendy_, he repeated in his mind, his lips discreetly shaping the sound of the name. _Wendy_… He saw her staring at him, and noticed the blush that was coming on to her cheeks. The left corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk, and the girl removed her stare from him to the floor. He did not know why, and he would never have admitted it, but the sight of this young lady made him feel as if he were short of breath, something he surely had not felt with any other. William looked at Wendy, and felt butterflies.

At this point, there are many holding their breath and crossing their fingers, hoping and wishing that somehow, a light will click between the two old-time companions. Even the stars watched them tonight, gleaming and calling to them in suspense. It is clear here, nonetheless, that William did not remember. He could not recognize her bright eyes, her soft honey hair, or even her rosy lips that had once affectionately touched his own. It was sad, but true.

And what of Wendy? One shall soon find out.

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Alright, I'm spoiling you guys! I said I wouldn't be able to update for a long while, but I just _had _to give you this chapter. You lucky people you! But now, I really mean I can't update for probably a month. Lol. School is just taking over my life. Yuck. But, please don't forget to review! Thanks! 


	9. A Brush with High Society

**Author's Note**: Wow. It's been a while, huh? For everyone who's been waiting so patiently for an update: don't worry, I'm alive and well (well sort of…I'm so busy I'm _about_ to drop dead…argh…) ANYway, thanks so much for your reviews. I really enjoyed reading them. And I noticed I kind of left you all hanging, didn't I? Well, after what seems like ages, chapter 9 is up! There's also a little recap from the previous chapter just in case you forgot what happened, so please read, indulge, enjoy and all that other good stuff.

_Mr. and Mrs. Darling parted from each other, and a sweet young lady appeared between them with a gracious smile and her white-gloved hands folded shyly in front of her._

_And it is here that William was finally allowed a complete vision of the girl that had caught his eye. _Wendy_, he repeated in his mind, his lips discreetly shaping the sound of the name. _Wendy_… He saw her staring at him, and noticed the blush that was coming on to her cheeks. The left corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk, and the girl removed her stare from him to the floor. He did not know why, and he would never have admitted it, but the sight of this young lady made him feel as if he were short of breath, something he surely had not felt with any other. William looked at Wendy, and felt butterflies._

_At this point, there are many holding their breath and crossing their fingers, hoping and wishing that somehow, a light will click between the two old-time companions. Even the stars watched them tonight, gleaming and calling to them in suspense. It is clear here, nonetheless, that William did not remember. He could not recognize her bright eyes, her soft honey hair, or even her rosy lips that had once affectionately touched his own. It was sad, but true._

And what of Wendy? One shall soon find out.

**Chapter 9**: A Brush with High Society

Wendy was fluttering.

Hands casually in the pockets of his stylish pants. Weight coolly shifted to one side. An undying twinkle in his bright blue eyes. Familiar. Mouth turned up in a confident smirk. Quite familiar.

_Oh goodness_, Wendy thought to herself. She looked down at the shiny checkered floor, feeling the growing warmth in her cheeks. _That smile. Does he notice the blush?_

The signs were all there in his attractive face, in his swaggering stance, in his mischievous stare. Wendy, however, was too self-conscious, too nervous, too shy to take the familiarities to heart. The same distinct features that should have manifested William's true identity were instead the ones that made Wendy flutter so much as to let those familiarities slip her mind. All she knew was that _the _William Locke was standing before her. She could not recognize what was really disguised in this handsomely grown body and ignored the sudden spark she had felt inside.

So, she continued peering at the floor, waiting uneasily for William's gaze to drift away from her. She bit her lip girlishly and felt her palms beginning to sweat beneath her silk gloves. After a short moment, she lifted her eyes slightly and saw that William had finally turned his attention away from her. He was looking to his father, who was in turn addressing a tense Mr. Darling.

"I don't believe we've seen you at any of the socials," Mr. Locke stated inquiringly. "Have you and your wife been to any of the recent gatherings?"

"Oh-no, no," Mr. Darling answered with a nervous chuckle. Mrs. Darling stood with her arm wrapped around his, and smiled gently at him as he spoke. "We haven't been to any recent ones...Oh-yes, but, last month Mary and I attended the ball for the music festival at the conservatory."

"How brilliant," Mrs. Locke chimed in. Until now, she seemed to have been quite hesitant towards making small talk with Mr. Darling. "Then you must have seen William play that night. He was one of the featured pianists."

Mr. Darling nodded quickly while Wendy and Mrs. Darling offered William admiring smiles.

"Yes," William took his cue to speak. "If I remember correctly, I played a piece from Chopin that night."

"That's wonderful, dear," Mrs. Darling said, giving William a courteous nod. "I believe I do recall you performing, now that you've mentioned it."

"Mr. Darling," another member of the group finally spoke. The Lockes' other four or so colleagues had barely said a word since the Darlings had walked in on their inner circle.

"Oh, please call me George," Mr. Darling told the short, white-bearded man who had addressed him.

"George," the man corrected, "if you don't mind my asking—what is it you do for a living?"

"I'm branch manager of the local Bloomsbury bank," Mr. Darling answered without hesitation. This made Wendy smile because she knew how proud her father was of his promotion in work.

"I see," the white-bearded man replied as he looked thoughtfully beside him to a tiny woman, whom Wendy assumed to be his wife. "Very well, very well."

"Hmmm," Mr. Locke speculated aloud, raising a finger intellectually to his chin. "You must know Edward Quiller Couch then?"

"Yes, of course," Mr. Darling said rapidly, still with a hint of uneasiness in his voice. "Sir Edward Quiller Couch. He is president of the bank."

"Yes, for almost 20 years now," Mr. Locke added. "He's a good acquaintance of mine."

"Is that so?" Mrs. Darling said interestedly. "Twenty years is quite an accomplishment."

"He's one of the most hard-working men in London," another refined-looking man standing next to Mr. Locke spoke. "I had the opportunity to have lunch with him a few weeks ago, and he told me all about his hectic schedule—meeting after meeting. It must be a demanding life, but he's a good man, nonetheless."

Wendy looked at her father closely. She thought these people should know what it was like being a father to and trying to support eight children, and _then_ speak about a demanding life.

"And Edward's family is just wonderful," Mrs. Locke suggested. "Hospitable wife and lovely daughter."

Wendy noticed a sudden stir in William from the corner of her eye.

"And I must say," Mrs. Locke went on, "it is a coincidence to have mentioned the Couchs. We've been planning a dinner with them to come within the next few weeks."

"Some kind of special occasion, Elizabeth?" asked the white-bearded man's wife. Wendy did not like the way this woman projected her nose in the air as she spoke. It reminded her too much of Aunt Millicent.

"Yes, actual—"

"Please excuse me," William politely tried to speak over his mother, who was beginning to answer the question. "I should like a refreshment…Would Miss Wendy like to join me?"

Wendy raised her eyebrows and smiled at William hopefully, and then looked to her parents.

"Go on, Wendy," Mrs. Darling told her daughter reassuringly. "You haven't had a sip of anything since this morning."

As William started off, Wendy followed behind at a shy distance. She couldn't understand why she was being so different all of a sudden—so bashful, so fussy, so jittery and skittish—why she couldn't just relax. When did _boys_ ever make her so bedazzled? What made him so exceptional? She only hoped he wouldn't notice how flustered she felt.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

William was fuming.

Why did his mother just insist on reopening such a sore subject? "A wonderful family." Ha. The Couchs had money, and that was it. Nothing William and his parents didn't already have. And to imagine Jacqueline as a wife? Well, it was simply not what William saw in his future.

But what _did_ he see in his future then? Marriage, commitment, work, a son or daughter…Certainly none of those. And the truth was, no matter how much he refused to admit it, he was afraid.

It took William accidentally shouldering an old woman in the back and a scolding from her for him to realize just how briskly he was walking. When he looked back, he found Wendy just catching up to him. She looked rather perplexed.

"I'm sorry," William said with an embarrassed smile. "I suppose I do walk a bit fast."

"Just a bit," Wendy replied, grinning back. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," William assured the confused young lady, laughing at his own behavior. "I really just needed a break from the _very interesting_ conversation the group was having."

"I understand," Wendy replied with a pleasant and comforting beam.

The two stopped at the side of the room, where a table stood with dozens of champagne glasses and bottles of cider lined up neatly on top of it. A server stood motionlessly behind the table with his hands folded smartly behind his back.

"Well, how about a drink?" William suggested before turning to the server. "Two please."

William watched the man as he carefully poured bubbling cider into two glasses. The liquid sizzled softly, and the server let it fizz over until passing each glass to William.

"There you are," William said, handing a glass to Wendy.

"Thank you," she replied with a gracious smile. "I _am_ rather thirsty."

William absentmindedly drank his cider, but focused closely on Wendy over the brim of his glass. He watched as she lightly touched her rosy lips to the rim of her own glass and prettily took tiny sips of the cider. She was so careful in her movements, so precise, as if every single one was completely thought out.

William liked that.

The attentive girl, who must have noticed his seemingly not-so-sly observance, narrowed her eyes a bit humorously at William. She took her glass away from her mouth and held it conscientiously in front of her with both hands, looking away from him. William rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

_Pull it together_, he thought to himself.

"How did you like Madame Butterfly?" he finally asked.

"Oh, it was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," Wendy answered instantly, looking back at him with a glow in her eyes. "It's almost silly how excited I was to see it. This is my first time at an opera."

"Is it?" William asked with a hint of amusement. He knew it.

"Yes, my very first one," Wendy replied. She let out a little laugh before going on. "You must be accustomed to these events, so it might sound a bit ridiculous to you, but I was absolutely _awe-struck_ just by the sight of the Royal Opera House. I've always wanted to attend this kind of event."

_A girl untainted by the spoils of high society_, William thought with an amused smile. _Resfreshing_.

"Well it's wonderful that you've had the opportunity to attend such an occasion," he told Wendy. He leaned closer to her and lowered his voice before adding, "But would you like to know a secret?"

"What's that?" Wendy asked softly in return.

William wanted to tell her exactly how it was. How he had been watching her attentively from the balcony, how a light had beamed in him as she appeared between her parents, how he wished he had known her long before this moment.

"It is all a facade," he said to her, almost in a whisper. "Many of the people who regularly attend these kinds of elitist gatherings hide behind their posh clothing and extravagant jewelry to conceal something unpleasant inside of them."

"What could be so unpleasant?" Wendy asked with a faint smile, scanning the crowd of people around them.

"Spend more time with them, and you'll find out."

"You say 'them,'" Wendy replied wonderingly, "but doesn't that include _you_ as well?"

William smiled at this.

"Yes. I do suppose you could spend more time with me if you insist."

"Oh, I wasn't suggesting…" Wendy's voice trailed off as another pretty blush tinted her cheeks.

William's mouth turned up into a smirk that Wendy didn't see.

"'Money,'" he stated erratically, hoping to relieve Wendy of her bashfulness, "'nothing worse in our lives, so current, rampant, so corrupting. Money—you demolish cities, you train and twist good minds and set them on to the most atrocious schemes.'"

Wendy took another sip of her cider and smiled at William once more.

"Sophocles," she said simply.

"Yes. I think the quote is representative of the ladies and gentlemen around us now."

Wendy laughed, again glancing at the people in the room.

"So you are quite learned," she said. "I thought you might have been hiding behind a spoiled-rich-son façade."

William laughed at the subtle way Wendy was making fun at him. _Clever_, he thought. _Very clever_.

"Well, now that we've established that I like to quote Sophocles in my spare time," William replied, "what is it that you like to do?"

Wendy nit her lip and looked around thoughtfully before answering.

"Well, I suppose I sew and practice needlepoint quite often."

"And those are things you _like_ doing?"

Wendy grinned uncertainly before answering.

"Well, at _times_, I do enjoy it."

William couldn't help but laugh.

"Alright, what else?" he asked.

"I…"

William made a motion with his hand for Wendy to continue speaking.

"I…well…there was one thing I did truly enjoy doing." Wendy looked down at the floor and smiled.

"_Did_ enjoy?"

"Yes."

"And what would that be?"

"Storytelling." Wendy looked back up at William as if she were trying to get his approval.

"Really?" William replied encouragingly. "That's quite fascinating. Who did you tell your stories to?"

"My younger brothers. When I shared the nursery with them."

"And what were your stories about?"

William saw that Wendy hesitated before speaking again.

"Oh, just silly fairy tales, I suppose. Cinderella, Snow White, Sleeping Beauty; just a simple dose of fantasy for children, you know?"

"I think that's wonderful. Do you not tell your stories to your brothers any longer? Have they grown up?"

"Well,_ I_ have. I don't stay in the nursery anymore."

William frowned at Wendy's answer. She _could have_ kept telling her stories. He'd bet they must have been captivating.

"Well that should be no reason to stop," he suggested. "Perhaps you could write a book of all your stories."

"Oh, wouldn't that be a sight." Wendy laughed. "And that is certainly more easily said than done."

"Yes, it is," William agreed. "But you could do it if it's what you desire. And I should most like to hear your stories one day."

Wendy tilted her head to one side with a weak smile, staring distantly into William's eyes.

"Maybe," she replied. "One day."

William watched her beaming at him, his stare moving from each baby blue eye, then to her full, pink lips. Again, he settled his stare back up to her eyes, where he found an innocent gaze. Dazzling.

"Wendy Darling."

William looked over Wendy's shoulder, and saw Mrs. Darling approaching.

"Yes?" Wendy said, looking away from William and turning around to her mother.

"Are you ready to go?" Mrs. Darling asked while compassionately glancing to William. "I'm sorry to interrupt your conversation, but your father's already outside with the carriage. I'm afraid he has a bit of a headache."

"Alright," Wendy said before turning back to William.

"Miss Wendy," William spoke chivalrously, seeing that this was their goodbye after such a short time together. "It was a pleasure, and I hope to see you again soon."

"Yes, it was good to meet you." Wendy waved shyly before turning to leave.

"Good evening, ladies."

And she was gone. Without even a kiss on her hand, William let her go. But what could he do? He had never felt so unsure of himself before. This girl was different from others. But what was it? What made her so exceptional? He just hoped that she hadn't noticed how flustered he had felt.


	10. Author's Note

**Author's Note**: I'm terribly sorry that I haven't been updating as often as I wish I could. My computer has some janky shizz on it right now, and I really hate to give this excuse, but I _really am_ busy! I'll do my best, though. I've been reading through the story so far and realized that it really isn't my best (my writing has changed a lot), so I'll be revising most of the chapters (nothing that will change the plot, so don't worry!). Hopefully the changes I make will add more depth to the story. Feel free to read over those changes. Anyway, please don't give up on me! Patience is a virtue.


	11. Reveries and a Good Punch

**Chapter 10**: Reveries and a Good Punch

"What do you see Nicholas?"

"I see…a rabbit. Do you see it?"

"Where?...No, that looks more like a dog."

"That one there looks like a horse."

"I see it. It's running."

"And it has a long, long tail."

"Hmm…a bit too long perhaps. It looks like a snake now."

"Hey, what about that one? That looks like a face, doesn't it?"

"It _does_ look like a face."

"A girl's face."

"With sky blue eyes."

"And fluffy curls of hair…"

William tucked his hands behind his head and breathed in the air that had been tinged with a scent of the grass and lilies growing around him. He squinted his eyes up to the sun-soaked sky, where a stream of sporadic clouds were floating past. He could hear his own breathing harmonizing with a bird's song somewhere in the distance, and the occasional butterflies that fluttered by him made everything seem as natural as ever.

This was how William would have had it everyday. The time when the weeks were on the threshold of autumn, but still containing the remnants of a bright summer's day—never too warm, never too cold; lying quietly in the grass of his mother's garden with Nicholas, simply watching the clouds go by. It was upsetting that the beautiful skies common to this time of year could not last forever.

William watched the girl's face in the sky slowly break into a muddle of smaller clouds. He closed his eyes for a moment, remembering her face from the previous night…

_Wendy_…

He put the milky skin, round blue eyes, pink lips, soft brown hair, and that occasional blush together to recreate the perfect image in his head. And the scent of the lilies in the garden let him recall just how wonderful she had smelled as well. He could not hide the smile at the thought of such beauty, intellectuality, and graciousness, though he found it difficult to admit that a girl had charmed him so.

Because of course, it had always been the other way around.

"William?"

His eyes fluttered opened and met the face of Nicholas looking down on him with a raised eyebrow.

"What are you smiling at?" his young brother asked with the same curious face.

William knew there was really no use in concerning a little boy over complicated feelings and emotions he'd never understand.

"I was just thinking…" He turned his head to Nicholas, who had plopped down on the grass next to him. "Don't those clouds look like giant pieces of candy? Doesn't it make you want to fly right up there and eat it all up?"

"Why, it does!" Nicholas darted to his feet and stretched his arms up towards the sky. "Let's eat it all up!"

William laughed as he watched his brother jump up and down with a newly-found burst of excitement, and then rose to his own feet. With a playful growl, he snatched Nicholas off the ground and wrapped his arms around the front of the little boy's torso, as if he were teaching him how to float on water. Nicholas laughed uncontrollably with elation, holding out his arms like tiny wings as William swirled him around in circles.

"I'm flying!" Nicholas exclaimed in his brother's arms. "Faster, William, faster!" He kicked his legs as if it would speed up his flight.

William happily obliged, turning Nicholas out of a circle and running quickly into a straightaway. They swept through the grass and onto Mrs. Locke's petunias and lilacs, and then past her apple and lemon trees, forgetting how terribly upset their mother had been the last time they'd stampeded her prized plants.

It was thankful then, that when Mrs. Locke came out into the garden herself, the boys just happened to be on the grass again.

"William!" she called from a few yards away, having just stepped out of a back door of the manor. She shaded her eyes with her hand, gazing out at her sons on the grass. She smiled and watched them a moment longer before taking a few more steps forward.

"William!" she called again, and this time, she was heard.

William set Nicholas back down on the grass and looked to his mother from across the garden.

"Henry's here to see you." Mrs. Locke motioned for William to come into the house. "He's in the parlor."

"Come on." William looked down at Nicholas and smiled. "We'll fly off some other day."

After Mrs. Locke had disappeared through the doorway, the two brothers raced each other into the house. Chuckling through heavy pants of breath, they made their way past the dining room, where two housemaids were clearing out the dishes from lunch, and headed towards the parlor near the front of the house.

"Look what the cat dragged in," William gestured to his friend, who was slumped down on the very chaise William himself had woken on the first day he'd come into the manor.

"Haven't seen you in awhile." Henry rose from his seat and walked over to William, patting him on the back. He looked down at Nicholas and added, "Has he been treating you well?"

Nicholas nodded.

"What've you been up to, Henry?" William asked.

"Not much really." Henry sighed and ran his fingers through the blond hair resting a bit sloppily on his head. It was longer than William had recalled. "Been quite busy at my father's office. He insists on keeping me on my toes."

"How sorry," William laughed, slapping a hand on Henry's shoulder. "You're quickly turning into an established young businessman, eh? _Busy at your father's office_. Haha!"

Henry threw William's hand off his shoulder, smirking.

"Face it, Will," he said with raised eyebrows. "You're soon due to fall into it as well."

"And I'll take your word for it," William answered unconvincingly. "But let's get out of this house, hmm? How about a walk to Kensington Gardens?"

"Fine by me." Henry grabbed his coat from the chaise and slung it over his shoulder.

"Nicholas, will you tell Mother for me?" William asked his brother, who was still standing quietly beside him. "I'll be back before dinner."

"Alright." Nicholas ran out of the parlor, the heels of his little loafers clanking loudly against the hardwood floor.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"How do you like this one?"

"The embroidery on the toe is beautiful but…it's a bit tight."

"Nonesense, dear. A 'bit tight' is a good thing. Now how do these suit you? The satin is just fine, don't you think?"

"It is."

"But the beads on _these_ are just as stunning, aren't they? I really can't decide which is better."

"I think they're equally eye-catching."

"Hmm…then perhaps we'll get both for your evening wear. And this pair…Will they do for the day time?"

Wendy decided against telling Aunt Millicent that the boots _really wouldn't_ do for the day time. She'd get them for Wendy regardless. But how dreadful it was! Wendy just couldn't understand the logic behind these so-called fashionable shoes. Certainly they were nice-looking, but that could not make up for lack of comfort. All the shoes she had tried on were much too tight, practically a size too small for her! But Aunt Millicent, always up to date on the latest fashions, insisted that narrower feet were a sign of breeding and gentility. So that was that.

Wendy watched as the salesclerk gathered up all the shoes scattered about her, setting aside the leather boots and two Louis heels for purchase.

"Ah, ah," Aunt Millicent snapped her fingers at the clerk before she could walk away with the other shoes. "Leave that pair with the jet beading."

The clerk adhered, placing what Wendy thought to be a pair of over-decorated evening boots back down on the floor.

"Mine as well get a nice pair for myself," Aunt Millicent said to her niece, who was busying herself with strapping on her old boots.

Wendy got up from the seat where she'd been trying on shoes for the past half hour and let out a sigh of relief. She glanced across the room to her aunt, who was now at a counter buying the shoes, and thought happily, _my final lesson with Aunt Millicent, at long last._

This Saturday afternoon certainly _was_ Wendy's last pronounced "lesson" with her aunt, as well should have been. The sixteen-year old was now a lady and no longer needed the instruction that undoubtedly should have expired much sooner than Aunt Millicent had planned. And Wendy couldn't help but smile at the way her aunt had chosen to spend the last lesson. Were shoes truly _vital_ to becoming a lady? She eyed the pair Aunt Millicent had purchased for herself and thought with sarcasm and amusement, _perhaps_.

"You never did tell me how the opera was last night," Aunt Millicent told Wendy as the two of them walked out of the boutique, each holding a bag of their new shoes.

Wendy squinted for a moment before letting her vision adjust to the brightness outside. The skies were ideal today.

"Oh, it was marvelous, Aunt Millicent," she answered. "_Madame Butterfly_ is quite an emotional love story. I myself shed a few tears."

"And how were the people? Did you speak with any of them?"

"Yes, some of them." Wendy glanced downwards, feeling a smile creeping upon her lips.

"And?"

"And…" Wendy bit her lip before replying. "They're quite the ones for sophistication. Very nicely dressed and well-spoken, I must say."

Very nicely dressed and well-spoken, without question. But also handsome, charming, captivating, alluring, engaging…so many other things that Wendy could ramble dumbly on about. But she dared not speak of William to her busybody aunt, and if she _was_ going to tell anyone about the adoring young man, that person would be her mother. The one who knew best.

But she knew exactly what Mrs. Darling would say, and how heartbreaking it all would be. Was there really any sense in dreaming?

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

William had always loved the Gardens. It was where time slowed down. Where the hustle and bustle of the town faded away, and the unhurried sway of tree branches and the carefree laughs of children took its place. It was almost as intimate as lying in his mother's garden, yet if he wished to socialize with others in the park, he could do so with ease. And whether he was walking the bowed stone pathway or sitting at one of the benches, he felt nearly at home.

"You and your parents still in a rough?"

Today William and Henry were leaned up against an old willow tree, sitting in its welcoming shade.

William pulled out some of the weeds growing around the tree's trunk and threw them across the grass.

"I don't know," he answered with a sigh. "I suppose there's still some tension…not that it wasn't always there."

"Don't worry about, Will," Henry assured, resting his head against the tree trunk. "Everything's going to work out in the end."

"So long as I don't end up with a Couch brood, eh?"

Henry laughed.

"I don't see what's so _terrible_ about that girl." He looked to his best friend with furrowed eyebrows. "From what I hear, suitors are _lining up_ to convene with her."

"You, included?" William glanced sideways at Henry.

"Well…" Henry rubbed his smiling mouth. "I haven't really met the girl. _Seen_ her, but not met her."

"That explains it."

"I suppose. Have you heard about Abe?"

William shook his head and scared off a pigeon that had been poking around him.

"He's soon to be engaged, that one," Henry said. "And to a good catch, _I_ think."

William sat up, wide-eyed.

"Who?" he demanded.

"Margaret Avery."

William leaned back against the tree, rubbing his chin wonderingly.

"She's fair," he concluded. "I met her once. Pretty, and not _too_ tainted."

Of course, Henry knew exactly what he was talking about.

"But what about _you_, Mr. Businessman?" William gave Henry an encouraging nudge on the arm.

"My parents are eagerly searching." Henry rolled up the sleeves of his button-down shirt. "What d'you think of Lily Brooks or Amelia Hancock?"

"Hmm," William thought aloud. "Never met Amelia Hancock. But Lily Brooks…small little waist. Nicely shaped."

"That's the most important thing, eh?" Henry laughed and landed a playful punch on William's leg.

William let out a chuckle and shrugged his shoulders before looking out across the park. He spotted a little boy and girl, perhaps six or seven years of age, chasing each other around a small tree. The girl laughed erratically and held up the fluffy pink skirts of her dress as she ran, while the boy's brownish hair bounced wildly on top of his head with every movement he made. Perhaps William could ask Henry what he thought about Wendy…

"Hey there!"

William and Henry both turned their heads in the direction of an urgent voice that had suddenly called to them. Two teenage boys, one tall and sandy-haired, the other short and with dark, slicked back hair, were steadily approaching. Both had hard-hitting stares plastered onto their faces.

"Hey, it's Andrew and Daniel." Henry got up from the ground and brushed off the loose grass on his trousers.

William gazed out at the two coming closer and waved when he recognized them as classmates from the Academy.

"Gentlemen," Henry held out his hand to the two boys when they arrived.

The tall one pushed Henry's hand away and stepped toward William with a pointing finger.

"You just stay away from her, you hear me?" he hissed, staring down at William with resentment.

"What are you speaking, Andrew?" William got up and shook his head in confusion. Stay away from _who_?

"You know exactly what I'm speaking of," he spat, coming closer to William. "Catherine, my boy, _Catherine_."

"I don't have any idea what you're talking about," William insisted, though the name sounded vaguely familiar.

Andrew let out a loud grunt and balled his fists up.

"Now we're all refined gentlemen here," he tried to speak in a steady voice, "but William, if you insist on playing dumb with me, things could get nasty."

"Andrew, step off, will you?" Henry tried tugging on the angered boy's shoulder.

"You stay out of this," Andrew told Henry, daring to come even closer to William.

_Catherine, Catherine, Catherine_….Suddenly, William remembered. The girl from the jewelry shop…

But he hadn't even spoken to her…

"Catherine…" William let out, still thinking. "Catherine—Drake?"

"That's right, Will." Andrew was now nearly chest-to-chest with him.

"Step _off_, Andrew." William stared up at the tall boy without blinking. "I barely know the girl."

"I find that hard to believe. Explain why she asked me how _I can't be as charming as William Locke._ She dared to tell me you've captured her heart! Everyone knows she's my bride!"

William raised his chin to Andrew, taking up what he felt to be a challenge.

"If you can't hold on to your girl, that's not my problem." William's mouth curled into a snarl. "I didn't do a _damn thing with her_, so if she doesn't fancy you, accept it."

"Watch your words," Andrew warned, shoving William away from him. "You know who my father is."

"A worthless, double-dealing lawyer," William sneered, gaining the distance on Andrew once more.

That was the last of it. Any sense of high-class manners had suddenly disappeared, and within the snap of a finger, Andrew had lunged forward. William landed heavily on his back and pushed roughly at the boy on top of him. When Daniel tried offering a kick or two of his own, Henry quickly yanked him away and threw him to the ground.

A sharp pain suddenly surged through the corner of William's mouth, and a second later, the metallic taste of his own blood trickled between his lips. He let out an enraged grumble, threw Andrew off, and pounced on top of him. With barely any thought, William swung at the boy a number of times, careless of where he was hitting, until he finally felt something snap against his sore knuckles. He got to his feet and watched Andrew swaying back and forth slowly on the grass, but before he could turn to Henry and Daniel, someone pulled violently on his arm.

"Locke!"

William's eyes glanced down at the hand clutching his arm and then looked up to a middle-aged man glaring at him in disbelief. It was one of his father's colleagues.

"What is the meaning of this?" the man roared so severely that it brought Henry and Daniel's fight to a standstill.

"Dr. Wa-ve-rly," William said through his hurried panting. "Just-leave us be. We-we've stopped now."

He suddenly became aware of all the people in the park watching them from a few yards away.

"This is an absolute disgrace!" Dr. Waverly proclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. "Now I don't know what this is all about, but you should all be ashamed of yourselves!"

Henry and William joined each other on one side of Dr. Waverly while Andrew (who was holding his jaw with both hands) and Daniel stood on the other. They were all bleeding in one place or another, staring at each other callously.

"Locke, you and your friend will come with me. As for you two," Dr. Waverly said, pointing at Andrew and Daniel, "expect your parents to hear about this within the next hour."

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"That was a good punch you gave Andrew," Henry whispered to William when they had settled into Dr. Waverly's carriage. "You nearly knocked his face in two."

"How bad is my mouth?" William managed to mumble, gently wiping away some blood from it with his handkerchief. It seemed that every bump the carriage rolled over on the road made the throbbing worse.

"Bad," Dr. Waverly piped in from across the two boys. "You won't have that handsome face of yours for about a week or so."

William groaned, leaning his head back against the seat.

"Girls have a way of complicating things, eh Will?" Henry whispered again to him.

Even in the midst of his misery, William found the strength to let out a little laugh.

**Author's Note**: Wow! I can't believe I did it! I actually got another chapter up! Yay! I hope you all liked this one. Even if 'William' doesn't look so hot anymore lol. I should be able to update now that school's not in the way! (Although I'm sure college will take care of that in about two months!) Thank you so much for all your reviews, I love you so much for it! You're the best readers :)


	12. Hear My Cry

**Chapter 11**: Hear My Cry

He could feel the carpet of orange and yellow leaves crunching beneath his bare feet with every step he made. His scraped arms swept in front of him, brushing aside the countless branches and vines growing wildly in his path. It was dense. But he moved; slithering between the packed trees, whose lanky shadows slid across his dirt-ridden face and uncovered chest. He looked up and narrowed his eyes at the sun rays that had managed to break through the umbrella of treetops far above his head.

And then, rustling. He scanned the still trees…No, it was not the rustling of leaves. The sound was much too constant. His ears perked up, and his eyes darted straight ahead. It was there, beyond the brush.

Quickly, he moved forward, while a bird's scream echoed down to him from somewhere in the sky. His heart raced with anticipation, and he no longer cared to mindfully push aside the entangled branches and vines before him; he was simply running through them now. But it was not long before the piercing end of a branch had cut through the skin of his forearm. And it was only then that he took notice of his attire—skeleton leaves, daintily covering his lower body…and the dagger hanging loosely from the leather belt strapped around his waist. He glanced from the trees to the weapon in his possession, and after a moment of uncertainty, removed it from his belt. To his surprise, he felt extremely able with the dagger in the tight grasp of his right hand. And only after a slight hesitance in breaking off the first branch in his path, he was soon moving again, sweeping the blade in the air to clear the way. The rustling got louder.

He stopped and lowered his dagger when coming upon a curtain of moss hanging between two large trees. The noise was now crashing into his ears, and he knew he had found it. Slowly, he outstretched his arm and pushed aside the shroud of moss.

A cool mist instantly hit his face; a mist that seemed to sit like idle fog in the clearing he had just stepped into. He had reached the edge of an outlet, into which cascaded a crystal-like waterfall. The falling water created the continuous spray of mist that seemed to engulf the entire clearing, making the place appear especially hazy and dream-like. He walked closer to the outlet, gaping up at the waterfall to which he could not see the top. He wondered if it must have been the tallest in existence.

He then gazed at his own reflection in the ruffling water. He studied the bronze skin, tousled sun-bleached hair, darting blue eyes, and rounded face, his cheekbones and jaw less defined…

He was unrecognizable. He was young. Much too young.

He crouched down closely to the water, gently grazing his fingertips over the strange reflection. He watched his face slowly distort with the moving water, but before it could return to its normal shape, another had abruptly taken its place.

He fell back on his elbows, taken off guard by the new face that had appeared in the water. Still sitting half-witted on the ground, he stared at a violet figure that was now breaking the surface of the water; a cloth of bright color veiling the form of a head and narrow shoulders. He was ready to have taken it as some kind of ghost, until a thin arm rose from the water and pulled the violet sheet to the side. The beautiful face of a young girl was revealed, her copper skin gleaming with dripping water and her slanted gray eyes directed straight at him. Her long and thick violet strands of hair were floating all around her, and her neck and chest were covered in shimmering gems and shells of every sort. Over the girl's shoulder, he thought he caught glimpse of a large sage fish jump up from the surface before splashing back into the water. But then it came to him.

She was a mermaid.

Still unmoving, he watched as she lifted her wet arm out of the water and reached for his leg. She gently tugged on his ankle and parted her lips slightly. The alluring mermaid didn't speak, but he knew what she wanted.

It seemed that he was moving with barely any thought; mindless, as if he were being shifted by the strings of a puppeteer. But even so, he was not making any attempt to defy the strings that were now leading him into the outlet. He loosely clutched the mermaid's hand and stepped into the water's edge, expecting to feel a cold sensation around his feet. Instead, he was met by a more pleasing, lukewarm water that only seemed to urge him on. The mermaid tugged once more at his hand, and he finally let himself sink in, the pleasant, bluish water wrapping nicely around his body. Keeping her fingers around his hand, the mermaid smiled with apparent satisfaction before leading him further out into the water. She kept her head above the surface and kept looking to him with the same amused grin, while her lean body moved swiftly and easily through the water. He tried keeping up, but even then, the excited mermaid was practically dragging him along.

When they reached the middle of the outlet, the mermaid slowed down and gestured for him to swim under water. She lowered her own head into the water and continued holding his hand, her flawless white teeth flashing as she smiled up to him just beneath the surface. He felt the corner of his mouth turn up into a smirk, and he sucked in a deep breath before submerging to join her. He had instinctively closed his eyes upon plunging in, but when he opened them, he was met by an ostensibly endless stream of colors. He gazed at the red, orange, green, pink, blue, yellow, and violet revolving around him. All the swirls of color drifted close to him, and he felt the warmth of each mermaid as they slinked by and brushed his skin. Every one of them was just as striking as the first, with unblemished tanned skin and enthralling gray eyes. He merely watched their slow, graceful movements in the water, all of them giggling mutely as they took turns in whirling their silvery-green fins around his torso. He laughed when the green-haired one tickled his stomach and blushed when the orange-haired one kissed his cheek, but when he glanced at the bubbles coming out of their mouth, he suddenly felt the need for air.

Leaving the beguiling mermaids below, he swept his arms upward and kicked his feet until reaching the surface again. He rubbed the slight stinging away from his eyes and caught his breath, but before he could turn his head back into the water, he suddenly noticed what was sitting only a few feet away from him—a massive rock, jutting out of the outlet like a tiny island; but even more prominent was the girl standing on top of it. Why hadn't he seen it earlier?

He looked up at the girl curiously. Her mid-length, light brown hair and her thin white gown were blowing in accordance with a small constant breeze sweeping past. She appeared to be staring back at him with a faint smile.

"Hello there?" He spoke for the first time, calling out against the noise of the waterfall.

Upon hearing his voice, the girl's eyes lit up, and she quickly motioned for him to come nearer.

"Oh, I just knew that was you!" the girl yelled back with elation. "Come join me!"

He swam to her obligingly, hoping that he'd recognize her once they were closer. She helped him up the rock, and as he stood up, she ran her fingers through his soaked hair, brushing away a few locks from his forehead. He observed her as she did this, watching her rosy lips as phrases such as "goodness, those mermaids want you all to themselves," and "your hair needs some trimming" spilled out of them. He took notice of her round baby blue eyes, and the way she smelled of lilacs. Why wasn't _she_ soaking in water?

"Sit with me," she said after tidying up his hair the best she could. She sat on the rock, neatly laying her gown over her legs, which she bent up against her chest.

He looked down at her wonderingly for a moment, and then sat down. She was quiet for a time, simply scanning the clearing and the trees surrounding it. He wanted to ask her for an explanation. But he looked at her face, profiled from the way they sat together, and could not do it. Somehow, he felt that he would have hurt her feelings if he asked who she was, or where they were, as if he were expected to know these things. So he didn't speak. Instead, the girl tilted her head at him and smiled, a blanket of her hair draping across the side of her face. She was pretty.

He smiled back at her, but almost instantly after, a strong wind blew past them. They both looked up at the sky, which was slowly but surely turning darker, and he noticed that the water around them was suddenly becoming rough. He looked back and saw that the waterfall and clearing were gone. They were in the middle of an ocean.

"High tide," the girl said, standing up and brushing the dirt off her gown.

"High tide?" He got up and looked back around, trying to make sense of the disappearing waterfall.

A wave of water came crashing unexpectedly onto the rock, and when he looked down, he saw that it was now only a few feet wide.

"We have to get out of h—" He turned back around to the girl, but she was gone.

"Hello?" he yelled out into the empty air, searching the torrent of water with a panicked thought that the girl had fallen in.

Seeing that the water was now to his ankles, he knew staying on the rock would be no hope. He looked desperately out across the water, struggling to stand on the drowning rock and against a forceful wind pushing him back. At first, he thought it was only wishful thinking, but when the waves of water lowered for a second, he saw it—a beach, maybe a few yards away.

"Hello?" he called for the girl again, lowering himself on the completely immersed rock. If he tried swimming, he might have been able to find the girl on his way to the beach.

He clutched the rock firmly with both hands and slowly slid his legs off, the water violently hitting his face. For a moment, he remained there, struggling to hug the rock as tight as possible and keeping his chin above the water.

He counted to three in his head, and then leapt off the rock, lunging in the direction of the beach. He swam quickly, trying to fight off the thrashing movements of the ocean, and for a short time, he succeeded. But just when he could see the beach only a yard or so away, a monstrous wave suddenly immersed him completely into the water. He came up immediately for air, but somehow, he could not go on swimming. Waves crashed over his head unmercifully, and he yelled out for help before more water filled his mouth and muddled his cry…

Panting, and soaking in sweat, Nicholas jumped up in bed.

**Author's Note**: I know, I know, it's shorter than usual, but that's just the way it turned out. I _had_ to stop it there. But anyway, god I almost didn't realize that I've gotten 11 chapters up…yay, double-digits! Haha. Again, thank you thank you thank you for the reviews. Big hugs! Oh, and HP and the Half-Blood Prince…WOW..


	13. The Unexpected Catalyst

**Chapter 12**: The Unexpected Catalyst

Wendy pulled her lace sleeves over her hands as best she could, though sure it wouldn't help much. She looked through the window and observed the mellowing skies, which were now progressively getting darker by the day and beginning to veil London with a faint murkiness. Thinking about just how abruptly winter was arriving, the young woman sat up in her chair, resting a hand on her corset-ridden stomach. Just a few days ago it had been a mild, even sunny day, but now, she was looking out at a sky that was nearly promising snow. She sighed at the thought, knowing that she had most likely seen the last bright day in London for a long while; she knew that when the city fell to winter, it fell hard, looming under a seemingly unbreakable spell that lasted months and months. The warm days she do dearly loved were out of sight.

"Alright, I just know I've got it this time."

Wendy turned her eyes away from the window to Tootles sitting next to her at the dining table. She'd been helping him with his arithmetic homework since coming home from school nearly an hour ago, and the poor boy had barely finished even one problem correctly on his own.

"Let's have a look then." She took the homework paper in her hands and quickly scanned the scratch work of numbers, squinting at the places where Tootles had crossed out his mistakes. "Hmm…Two, goes into nineteen, bring down the zero, goes into fifteen…yes, yes…bring down the eight…"

"Hah. Wendy, you sound like Father when he's calculating our finances!" Tootles interjected with an amused grunt. He grabbed an oatmeal raisin cookie from a plate Mrs. Darling had set down on the table a few minutes ago and stuffed it into his mouth.

Wendy shot her brother a mocking glare before setting the paper back in front of him.

"Now Mr. Smart-mouth, check this part again, where you're dividing 108 by 20," she directed, pointing to Tootles' error. "And did you not hear Mother when she said those cookies were for later?"

Tootles frowned, wiping away the crumbs that had gathered at the corners of his mouth.

"You're really becoming more like _them_…" he grumbled. "Father and Mother."

Wendy crossed her arms over the table and cocked her head to the side to look more directly at her brother. "Not that you're implying there's a problem with it…? If there's anyone worth looking up to, it's Father and Mother. Wouldn't you say?"

Tootles shrugged his shoulders and mumbled a few quiet words that faded off into an imperceptible whisper. He looked down to his homework paper and trailed the numbers on it with his finger.

"What was that you said?" Wendy looked down at Tootles' lowered head.

"Nothing." He kept his stare lowered and tapped his pencil against his paper as if he were analyzing one of the math problems.

Wendy moved her head nearer to her brother's and rested a hand lightly on his back, now realizing the troubled air about him.

"Tootles?"

He shook his head.

"_Tootles_?"

A few silent seconds passed before he finally looked back up at Wendy with a grudging stare.

"I…I just miss old you."

Hearing this, Wendy sighed. There it was. Resurrected.

She'd gone through this many times before when she'd first been uprooted from the nursery over three years ago, and it had taken many months for it to pass over. But to Wendy, the fact that it _had_ passed over vied no logical reason to why Tootles had just now suddenly brought it up. She looked at him, and remembered all the heartrending faces of her brothers as she had told them that "all children grow up," and how, at thirteen, her turn had come. There was nothing she could have done; she knew this. And after some time, she'd convinced herself that it was not her brothers she'd abandoned, only a disintegrating childhood that came with of life. But why, then, was guilt presently creeping into Wendy at that exact moment?

"Tootles, what has brought this on?" she asked after some thought, gently taking away from his hand the pencil he'd still been tapping his homework paper with. "We went through this far too long ago for you to say such a thing. You know very well that all children g—"

"Grow up. I know."

"Then what's wrong?"

"It's just that…Well, Michael mentioned your stories the other day."

"Which? Cinderella?"

"No."

"Sleeping Beauty?"

"_No_."

"What, then?"

"Well, pirates…and the like."

"Pirates?" Wendy grinned at this. "How funny to remember. _I_ barely recall such stories _myself_."

"Of course you remember _storytelling_, Wendy."

"Yes, and liked it very much. But goodness, to think I told you stories about _pirates_…" She shook her head slightly, still smiling to herself.

"Michael seemed to remember them quite clearly," Tootles explained, looking up at the ceiling as if in hope to capture a glance of what Michael had said. "Fierce pirates, with odd little names. And they fought Indians with feathers and bone jewelry, and painted skin."

"I _did_ have a wild imagination," Wendy responded with a laugh, though the thought of such fairytales were still clouded in her mind. "It's a wonder how such ideas came into my head. Perhaps through some fanatical dream."

"That's what John always said." Tootles glanced at Wendy before looking down and fiddling with his pencil again.

"And why was Michael suddenly bringing up my stories after all this time?"

Tootles nipped at his lower lip, gazing at Wendy with an unreadable stare, but when he opened his mouth to speak, not a word came out.

Wendy sighed once more.

"_Tootles_, why must I pry everything out of you today?" she asked wonderingly. "Are you and the boys up to something?"

Her brother, seemingly a bit nervous, glanced sideways at Wendy and tucked his hand into his trouser pocket.

"Michael and I f—"

"Wendy." Mrs. Darling's gentle voice suddenly echoed into the dining room from the neighboring foyer, stopping Tootles mid-sentence. "Are you and Tootles nearly finished?"

"Well…not quite," Wendy called back, looking from Tootles down to the half-filled solutions on his paper.

Mrs. Darling's footsteps pursued closer until she appeared at the doorway. She was wearing a long black petticoat, beneath which peeked out the sea green skirts of her day dress and her black leather boots.

"A few more minutes then?" she offered, glancing up at the cuckoo clock hanging against the wall. "It's already 2:30, and you know how timely Aunt Millicent likes to be."

"Alright," Wendy said before turning back to Tootles. "We just have a few more problems left."

Mrs. Darling remained at the doorway while her two children bent over the paper on the table—Tootles now helplessly searching for his error, and Wendy desperately hoping he'd write down "5."

A moment past before more footsteps were heard sweeping down the foyer's staircase.

"I just _knew_ I smelled fresh cookies." John walked past his mother at the doorway and headed straight for the plate of cookies sitting on the table.

"How convenient," Mrs. Darling said with delight, watching her eldest son search for the biggest cookie in the pile. "John can finish up with Tootles, can't he?"

"Why yes, he can," Wendy smiled up at John, whose face suddenly suggested the realization that he'd just been lured into the room purposely. He glanced down at the cookie in his hand and frowned.

"Now then, John," Mrs. Darling went to her son and properly tightened the school tie he had precisely loosened around his neck. "Your father should be home by 4:30. But will you be a dear and help Tootles with the rest of his homework while Nana watches the children in the nursery? You can give each of the boys one cookie, so you and Tootles have already had your share" (at this, Tootles' jaw dropped in astonishment). "At 3:00, give the Twins each one spoonful of the medicine I've set aside on the kitchen counter. And do help Nana tidy up the nursery. I just know the job's getting tedious for her."

"Oh, Mo_ther_…" John's thin-wired glasses rose to his eyebrows as his nose scrunched up in a grimace. Wendy found it funny how her oldest brother, after replacing his roundish, thick-rimmed spectacles with this new pair, had suddenly become the spitting image of their father.

"_John_." Mrs. Darling touched her hand lightly to his cheek before making a sweeping motion towards Wendy. "Be the responsible young man I know you are."

Wendy whispered a low "five" in Tootles' ear before leaving the table and letting a grumbling John fill her seat.

She walked into the foyer with her mother and grabbed her petticoat from the coat rack, silently wishing she could have stayed home with her brothers. Today, Aunt Millicent had called for a "much-needed" afternoon tea with her and Mrs. Darling, and who knew what that meant. More lessons?

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

William didn't want to think about what Abram and Henry were doing without him. He hated missing out, especially on their after school adventures. Where would they be today? The haunted old Wicker mansion, perhaps? Or maybe they were at the front steps of the Girls' Academy, counting how many waves or smiles they got. They could be in the city, buying all the up-to-the-minute gadgets at the modish boutiques, or quite possibly be at Kensington Gardens?

William leaned his head back against the edge of his bed from where he was sitting on the floor, one leg bent upwards and the other outstretched in front of him. From what had grown out of habit the last few days, he brushed his tongue against his inflamed lower lip, feeling for any possible change in size. He had not bothered changing out of his school uniform; he had simply unfastened his vest and the buttons on the collar of his shirt, and his overcoat was sprawled across the floor next to him. He felt his eyelids getting heavy as he watched the green marble he'd been flicking into a nearby wall roll back and forth, back and forth. And if he had learned anything from this time-killing task, it was that the floor was not level—a detail he would not have ever noticed without having been forced to stay within the confines of his home.

It was no surprise that William had been grounded when his parents discovered the story behind his swollen lip. Never had he seen his father so furious, or his mother so heartbroken. But any sorry he could have felt for them vanished when all his father could say was, "Now our dinner with the Couchs will have to be held back!"

And Nicholas…

If William cared about what anyone thought of him, it was Nicholas. It wasn't the anger or sorrow he saw in his parents' eyes (he'd certainly disappointed them other times before and expected it), but the worry in his brother's eyes that made William ashamed, made him want to hide his wounded face and run into his room where he could not be seen. Having to lie to Nicholas and tell him that he'd simply tripped and fallen on the street made him feel even more debasing. But he knew a white lie would be better than the truth.

Even all the guilt he felt at home with Nicholas, however, could not stop William from soaking in the praise he got at the academy. Of course, he had felt initially embarrassed the first day he was to arrive at school with an oversized lower lip, and when he found out that Henry had gotten out of the fight with a mere scratch on the cheek and a little berating from his father, it made him more frustrated than ever. But it was not long before the rumors spread—"how good ol' Will had put that Andrew boy in his place"—and before that first day was over, William had become the deity of the school. Now, it seemed his lip was not the only thing that had swelled up.

William snatched the marble into his hand and threw it against the door forcefully.

"Damn it," he let out with a deep breath, watching the marble roll back several feet away from him.

Before he could plop onto his bed for an impulsively decided nap, a young housemaid came barging into the room.

"What was that appalling knock on your door, sir?" she asked nervously, holding a white wash cloth against her chest.

"Oh, sorry Tessa," William said, sitting on his bed to unlace his shoes. "I was, umm, throwing around a marble that, errr, slipped out of my hand and hit the door."

"Well, sir, it's no use making yourself comfortable," the housemaid told him, eyeing the shoes William had dropped on his bedside. "Mr. Blankworth is here for your piano lesson."

"Perfect."

Slowly, William reached back down for his shoes, knowing that Mr. Blankworth would notice he hadn't been practicing.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"A social."

"A social?" Wendy and her mother said together.

"Yes, a social," Aunt Millicent repeated over her cup of tea. "Saturday evening."

"Well, I assure you, Aunt Millicent," Mrs. Darling said as politely as she could from across the small table they were sitting at, "we've been to them and have several prospects already."

"Yes, yes, yes dear," Aunt Millicent replied hastily, pulling off her white gloves and setting them down on the table. "But why not another opportunity to meet people? Now this one on Saturday evening is being held by my good friend Beatrice, whom I'm sure you've met, Wendy. Isn't she a pleasant lady? Well now, she herself has a daughter, and just last week we were discussing…"

Wendy looked around the crowded tea house, mostly filled with middle-aged women wearing wide-brimmed hats and multi-layered skirts that entirely covered the chairs upon which they sat. All of their voices created a buzzing sound in the room that stayed at a cultured level, and once in a while, there would be a light clanking of china or the opening of the entrance door. Amid this all, Wendy spotted two uniformed servers standing at the back of the room—a girl with a round face, her hair pulled back into a bonnet, and a young man, courteously holding a tea kettle while a beaming white cloth hung over his arm. They were simply talking, but Wendy saw the embarrassed smile that occasionally appeared on the girl's mouth, and the twinkle that glimmered in the young man's eyes as he watched her speak. It was a courtship.

"What do you think of William Locke, Mother?"

The words had slipped out of Wendy's mouth even before she knew what she was saying.

She looked to her mother and aunt, whose conversation had apparently been interrupted by her arbitrary question. Mrs. Darling merely furrowed her eyebrows at Wendy while Aunt Millicent lowered her tea cup and stared at the girl blankly.

"I'm—I'm sorry." Wendy broke the moment of silence that had followed and laughed with discomfort. She looked down at her hands on the table, wringing her fingers together and hoping they would disregard her question.

"William Locke?" Mrs. Darling said softly. She cleared her throat uneasily, trying to find something to add. "A very polite boy, if I can recall…and very nice parents."

"Oh, it was only a silly question, really," Wendy told her mother with a forced smile. "I was just reminded of h—"

"Hmph," Aunt Millicent snorted displeasingly. "William _Locke_ is a mere flaw to his family's stance, if you ask me. A crude, selfish boy who simply doesn't appreciate all he has. I've heard one too many stories of his troublesome ways. Vandalizing buildings, and _fighting_, for heaven's sake." She shook her head shamefully.

"Oh, now Aunt Millicent, we can't be sure of such things," Mrs. Darling suggested. "You know how gossip runs feverishly in Bloomsbury."

"Well." Aunt Millicent shrugged her shoulders before finishing the last of her tea. "As I was saying before, Mary, do mention the social to George when he gets in today, and let me know if you'd like to attend so that I might inform Beatrice."

"We'll let you know as soon as possible," Mrs. Darling replied, glancing sideways at Wendy.

Aunt Millicent nodded at Mrs. Darling's words, but pressed her hand gently to her chest. Wendy noticed that her face had suddenly turned to one of uneasiness.

"What is it?" Mrs. Darling asked, leaning over the table as if to get a closer look at the woman.

"Oh it's—just some chest congestion I've been having on and off, nothing to worry about," Aunt Millicent insisted, removing her coat from the back of her chair. "Anyway, I—I should be getting home to Slightly soon. He's got the cold, what with this drastically changing weather, and I don't wish to leave him with the nanny too long." She got up from her chair and buttoned up her coat quickly, as if she were trying to avoid any more confrontation.

"A-Alright," Mrs. Darling replied, clearly confused by Aunt Millicent's sudden restlessness. She too rose from her chair to pull on her coat.

Wendy stood up, and while handing Aunt Millicent the gloves she had almost forgotten on the table, eyed her suspiciously. She looked at the slightly pained look on her aunt's face, and offered her mother a concerned glance as they filed out of the tea house.

"Perhaps we'll walk you home, Aunt Millicent," Wendy said as they turned on to the street, where an immediate chill touched her cheeks.

Aunt Millicent did not answer right away. Instead, she wrapped her coat more tightly around her as a wind brushed past, and then quickened her steps.

"Wendy," she finally said a moment later. "There's no need to walk me home. I'm perfectly able t—"

"No, no, we insist," Mrs. Darling cut in, gently pressing her hand against Aunt Millicent's back. "Perhaps we'll pay Slightly a short visit as well."

Aunt Millicent mumbled a nippy "if you wish" before moving ahead of Mrs. Darling and Wendy a few more paces. She did not seem to receive sympathy quite so well.

"Let's keep up now, dear," Mrs. Darling said when Wendy looked to her for an explanation. "We don't want to keep Aunt Millicent from getting home to Slightly."

Before anything else could be said, however, Aunt Millicent suddenly stopped in her tracks. She had dropped her purse, and from behind, Wendy could see her shoulders moving up and down quite heavily.

"Aunt Millicent?" She rushed forward, picking up the purse. On handing it back to her, she saw again the pained look in her aunt's eyes.

"I—I just need to catch my breath," Aunt Millicent murmured, grasping Wendy's arm lightly.

Wendy let out a quiet gasp as Aunt Millicent began staggering forward. She wrapped her arm around the woman's waist to hold her weight and called urgently for her mother.

Mrs. Darling, a panicked and searching stare in her eyes, wrapped her arm around the other side of Aunt Millicent to help. After relieving Wendy of some of the weight, she looked around to anyone walking past.

"Sir, please help us." She tried stopping a man in a long overcoat, who only paused and stared for a moment before offering a cold "I'm late for a meeting" and walking on. She turned quickly to another passerby and pleaded for help, but did not even receive a glance.

Wendy felt helpless watching her mother, and she struggled to look around while holding up a frail Aunt Millicent.

"It's alright," Wendy spoke softly into her aunt's ear, smoke drawing out of her warmth breath as it hit the cold air. And when she mindlessly glanced over her shoulder to continue searching for anyone who could help…

_Fate_.

Just a few yards behind them, the most prestigious doctor of the town was getting into his carriage.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"We greatly appreciate your generosity," Mrs. Darling thanked Mr. Locke as they headed down the road in a spacious, velvet-interiored carriage.

"Oh, it's a common moral, really," said Mr. Locke, who was sitting next to Aunt Millicent and checking her forehead for a temperature. She was breathing a bit heavily. "Now I have an office in my home, so I think it would be best to go there. It's much closer than the hospital."

Wendy studied Mr. Locke from the corner of her eye. He looked just as high-class as he had at the opera—dark, slicked back hair much like her father's, but with a well-trimmed moustache, a classy top hat to go with his posh black suit, a glimmering silver hand watch just visible beneath his overcoat. He seemed to shine in all his luxury.

They went on for about a half a mile until turning a corner onto a street where there were fewer buildings. A short distance away from the road was a small hill, upon which stood an impressive manor. Wendy was not surprised as the carriage turned onto the brick driveway leading to the prominent home, and she looked with awe as the ivy-covered stone building loomed before them.

They came to a halt directly in front of a set of sandstone stairs, which led to tall, gold-trimmed doors. Before anyone could even step foot out of the carriage, a young maid in a conventional housedress came through the doors and stood promptly at the steps, hands folded neatly in front of her.

"Alright, careful now," Mr. Locke said as he helped Aunt Millicent off the carriage. Wendy and Mrs. Darling followed close behind.

"Good afternoon Dr. Locke," the housemaid greeted him before glancing at the others. "I wasn't aware you'd be having visitors. Shall I run more tea?"

"Yes, thank you Tessa," Mr. Locke called back hastily as he walked Aunt Millicent through the doorway. "I have a patient to tend to, so I'll be in the office."

The housemaid Tessa took everyone's coats as they walked into the warming air of a marble-floored entrance hall. Wendy's jaw nearly dropped at the sight of the grand staircase before them, and for a moment she stopped to admire the crystal chandelier hanging from a lofty ceiling that was painted like a starry night sky (which reminded her much of the nursery). The faint sound of music could be heard from somewhere on the floor.

"My office is just this way," Mr. Locke gestured with his hand that was holding Aunt Millicent's to an adjoining room.

They walked into a crimson-themed drawing room that must have been three times as large as that of the Darlings' home—with long windows draped over by heavy velvet curtains, cushiony sofas and gold-trimmed tables, and even a polished grand piano in the corner…

"Father?" A young man rose from the piano bench, cutting short the music that had been sounding in the entrance hall.

Wendy turned her head away quickly. There he was again, looking as refined as he had at the opera, just like his father. William Locke. He was accompanied by an older man wearing a worn blue coat and squinting through gold-wired spectacles.

"You remember the Darlings?" Mr. Locke put forth a hasty introduction as he led the family of women to a door across the room. "You may continue on with your lesson. I'm just going to carry out a brief check-up."

"That's alright, Dr. Locke," the old man replied with a scraggly voice, picking up several music books from the piano. "We've just ended our lesson for today."

"Very well." Mr. Locke opened the door and gestured for Aunt Millicent to enter. Just as he was going to follow her in, he turned back to Wendy and Mrs. Darling with some consideration. "If you wish, perhaps William can entice you to some music or possibly show you to the library while I tend to your aunt."

"Wendy," Mrs. Darling said, turning to her daughter, "perhaps you'll do that? I can stay with Aunt Millicent."

Wendy glanced back at William, who was watching them quietly from beside the piano.

"It's quite alright." She answered in a routine-like manner, courteously smiling and shaking her head in declination.

"Surely you'd be more comfortable here in the drawing room or in the library," Mr. Locke said, returning Wendy's smile, "and I can assure your aunt will be just fine. But if it suits you…?"

Aunt Millicent was seated quietly on a settee in the adjoining office, yet her voice echoed into Wendy's head: _Always accept one's hospitality with graciousness_. It was one of the first things she had learned in their lessons together.

"Are you sure Aunt Millicent will be alright?" Wendy finally asked, looking over Mr. Locke's shoulder to her aunt in the office.

"I give my word." Mr. Locke said with a grin, mockingly raising his right hand. He looked across the room to William, and gave him a somewhat commanding nod before walking into the office.

Mrs. Darling offered her daughter a heartening smile before following Mr. Locke. Wendy remained at the doorway, watching her join the doctor to where Aunt Millicent was seated. The only ones left in the drawing room were she and William…

"I'll be seeing you next week, Mr. Locke."

…_and_ the piano teacher.

Wendy had almost forgotten he was still standing with William at the piano. He spoke in that same scraggly voice, but in a much more bitter tone than when he had addressed William's father.

"I truly hope you start practicing, having heard the rubbish you gave me today." Wendy watched William scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably as he received his teacher's slating. "I'm sure you don't want to face being hitched from playing at the conservatory next week." The teacher picked up a thin pile of papers lying on the piano top and pushed it against William's chest. "Learn it."

William took the papers into his hands, his lips shut tightly together as if he were forcing back some threatening outcry. Without another word, the piano teacher started off, his music books placed smartly under his arm. His hasty footsteps echoed out into the entrance hall, and when a door was finally heard shutting closed, the room fell silent.

William looked to Wendy and offered her an uneasy grin.

"Mr. Blankworth," he said with a strained hint of amusement, gesturing towards the empty air from which his teacher had left.

Wendy bit gently on her lip and stared in the direction he had motioned to. She could sense his embarrassment.

"I heard your playing as I was coming in," she tried to offer, "and…I thought it was lovely."

This seemed to have worked, for William responded with a self-assured smirk before speaking again.

"Is that your aunt in there?" He pointed to the doorway of his father's office. "I do hope she'll be alright."

"I suppose she will," Wendy answered. "I think she was feeling a bit light-headed, but your father was reassuringly calm, so I trust it's nothing serious."

"That's quite relieving," William said before looking from Wendy to the piano he was still standing by. He smiled. "And tell me, why is it that we must bellow to each other from across the room? Shall I play some music for you?" He motioned to a chair by the piano, presumably for her to sit on. "Or perhaps you'd like me to show you to the library? Or to the garden?"

As he took a few steps toward her, Wendy noticed a yellowish discoloration and slight inflammation in his lower lip, which seemed to even out his normally pouty-like mouth. Only when the young man looked down and warily brushed his tongue over his lip did she realize that she had been staring at the apparent wound for more than a few uncouth seconds. She turned her stare swiftly upon the piano, and opened and closed her mouth several times before finally finding something to say.

"Well—perhaps it's a bit chilly for going out into the garden." She tried hard not to look any lower than his eyes. "I'd be delighted to hear more of your music, at your convenience."

"Of course." William smiled proudly and gestured to the chair by the piano again. "Any particular requests?"

Wendy went to the chair and sat down, smoothing out the crinkles in her dress before looking up at William thoughtfully.

"Well I have to admit, I don't know too much about music," she replied to him. "My mother's the true pianist in our family."

The loud clicking of heels and clanking china were suddenly heard coming in from the entrance hall, and Wendy turned to see Tessa walking briskly into the drawing room with a silver tray of porcelain ware.

"Would you like some tea, Miss?" the housemaid asked from across the room, holding out the tray further in her hands to Wendy's direction. She looked a bit disheveled, with her cheeks pink with warmth and her small white apron tied crookedly around her tiny waist.

"No, thank you," Wendy politely sent off the offer. "I've just come from an afternoon tea."

"Very well. Are they in the office?" Tessa pointed to Mr. Locke's door, but without taking heed to William or Wendy's nods, she quickly rushed towards the office to peek through the crack of the door. "Ah yes," she said quietly to herself before knocking on the door and entering.

"She's new," William said when Tessa had gone. "Can get quite giddy sometimes. Very much seeking the approval of my parents."

"I see," Wendy replied with a laugh.

"Alright, then." William cleared his throat and sat back down on the piano bench, flipping through a music book set before him. "I think we'll go with Rachmaninov."

Wendy watched as William straightened his back and leveled his forearms to the piano keys. He lifted his chin slightly, almost as if in smugness, and after mutely mouthing a count to three, he began playing. A lively, swift-rhythmed tune immediately filled the air as his fingers started dancing urgently over the keys, and he continuously moved his glance from them up to the music book with a hard, concentrated stare. Every part of him seemed to be tense except his flouncing fingers, which produced, Wendy had decided, a sweet-sounding music that was nearly comparable to the most endearing pieces her mother played. Never had she seen fingers move so quickly over piano keys.

When William had finished the piece a few short minutes later, his hard-hitting expression turned into a smirk, and he nodded slightly at the music book, as if he knew he had just given a perfect performance.

"That was the piece that got me recognized at the conservatory," he said, looking at Wendy for approval.

"Well, it seems you don't need _me_ to tell you how wonderful that was." She laughed as William's smirk was suddenly wiped off his face.

"Right, then…" he looked down at the piano, and then at Wendy. "It's your turn."

Wendy narrowed her eyes and grinned. "My turn?"

"Come on. I'll teach you a simple piece." William scooted down the piano bench, looking at her expectantly.

Wendy stared a moment at the vacant end of the piano bench. _There's nothing wrong with it_, she told herself. _He's just being friendly_.

But how could she tell this to herself, and still feel doubtful?

"No Rachmaninov, I'm assuming." Wendy saw William's smile widen as she got up to join him at the piano bench. "Now what will you have me doing here?"

She kept her gaze down at the piano keys before her, but now that the two were the closest they'd ever been, Wendy could see from the corner of her eye that William was studying her face. Feeling quite awkward, she swallowed hard and cleared her throat.

"Here, I'll guide you." William finally took his eyes away from her face, but in turn gently brought Wendy's hand to the keys.

Wendy blinked. He kept his hand lightly over hers, and pressed her index finger over a few keys in an unhurried rhythm. The piece was very short, but when he eventually let go of her hand, Wendy could still feel a tingling where he'd left it.

"'Mary Had a Little Lamb,'" Wendy said, smiling. She cocked her head to the side and looked up at William's sapphire-like eyes through a curtain of hair that had fallen out of her bun.

"You know you're music," William said as he lowered his head to Wendy's level. She hadn't noticed just how tall he was until then. The young man brushed Wendy's loose strands of hair away from her face and tucked them behind her ear, and then, to Wendy's surprise, moved his hand to the side of her face and held it there. As he lightly brushed his thumb over her cheek, Wendy closed her eyes and leaned her head slightly more into his hand, but then took hold of his wrist almost as if in defiance.

"Wendy." She heard him whisper her name.

"Oh for heaven's sake!"

Wendy quickly turned her head to Mr. Locke's office door and saw Tessa rushing out of it. Her eyes were welling up in tears and the china on the tray clattered as she tried to hold it with shaking hands.

"What's the matter?" Wendy got up from the piano bench and made her way towards Tessa.

"I-I spilled the t-tea _all_ over Master Loc-Locke's desk!" the housemaid bellowed between hiccups.

Wendy frowned, taking the tray out of Tessa's hands.

"Now I'll r-really be f-fired!" Tessa went on, wiping her eyes now that she had free hands.

"Of course you won't," William chimed in, making his way to the two young women. "We'll just get some towels from the kitchen and help you clean up. There's no use in crying over spilled tea."

"That's right." Wendy smiled sympathetically at Tessa.

As the three headed to the kitchen, Wendy and William exchanged wayward stares.

**Author's Note**: Well…I know many of you were probably just a wee bit confused by the previous chapter, but no worries, okay? All will be explained in the near future. Speaking of the near future (actually, the _really_ near future), I''ll soon be leaving far far away from home for college, which means that my writing will most likely cease for a time (How long, you ask? Not really sure). And I know how terrible it would be to discontinue this story, so if I want to get this done, that means I'm really gonna have to crank out the chapters. It's hard, considering I hate being rushed when it comes to my writing and this story (as you might guess from my untimely updates), but trust me, I'm trying! Oh, and reviewers, thank you this much: _.x. holds out hands really wide .x._ I could name you all specifically, but you know who you are! You guys are such great support.


	14. Chapter 13 Excerpt

**Author's Note**: Oh my…It feels like ages, my dears, _ages_…At last, I've managed to relax a bit from the craziness of school life, and so have begun with the next chapter of LIT. No, no…I'm not quite finished with it (ehh, about halfway there), but it's been such a long time that I feel obliged to give you _something_. So below you'll find a snippet of Chapter 13. Just to tease you all P And also, **QUITE IMPORTANT TO THE PLOT**: I've made a significant edit to chapter 12 (near the beginning), so if you read it a while back, I suggest you take a look at it again. Alrighty? I've got the remainder of the story completely outlined, so hopefully this thing will get going again…

UNTIL then, I'll say tootles m'dears!

**Chapter 13 – Excerpt**

"Oh come off it, Wendy." John took a step into the room, narrowing his eyes at her. "I've seen the way you've been acting since coming back from the Locke manor. So concerned about your looks. Walking around with a noble expression on your face. Acting as if the chaps nodding their caps at you on the street were invisible. You don't even say a word at the dinner table anymore. Is it that our family conversations are just too unsophisticated for you now?"

"Oh, John, don't you dare!" Wendy demanded, marching toward him in anger. She could hardly believe her ears. "You know I'd never do such things. And if you didn't, I'd wonder whether you've been living under a rock your entire life!"

John looked down at his older sister, who came merely up to his chin, thanks to the abrupt growth spurt he'd experienced just a year ago.

"I'm simply stating what I see," he hissed quietly, tucking his hands coolly into his trouser pockets.

Wendy's burning blue eyes shifted from John's slightly curled mouth to his own dark brown pupils. She knew resorting to accusations would be low, but she was beyond composure.

"You're unbelievable," she sneered. "Do you even realize, you're one to talk? You're just as obsessed about money as father is. You never want to help with the boys, never want to spend time with them. For heaven's sake, you rarely even let them step into your room! _And_ let me remind you, dear brother, that the only reason why we leave so early every morning is because we make a detour of nearly six blocks just so you can escort your little princess to school."

Wendy ended to catch her breath, just as Nibs appeared at the doorway. He peered from her to John with furrowed eyebrows.

"If you and the boys are ready," she went on in a lower voice, "then there's no use in wasting your impatience on me." She went to the edge of her bed and sat down to tighten the laces of her boots, trying to avoid any more confrontation.

There was a long silence before she finally heard John's heavy footsteps leave the room, and when she looked back up from her boots, she saw Nibs still standing at the doorway.

"You better get going," she insisted, trying to tame her shaking voice.

Nibs stared at her a moment longer, with bags under his eyes that strangely made it seem as though he were about to cry. He said nothing, however, and eventually disappeared from the doorway.


	15. Meeting and Missing

**Chapter 13**: Meeting and Missing

Aunt Millicent's heart went bad.

That's what Mr. Locke had said—something about a lack of oxygen flowing into it. He'd admitted he didn't have enough information to firmly diagnose the problem, but he'd nevertheless given Aunt Millicent a bottle of pills to take for the pain—a new German-patented medicine, he explained, that was quickly becoming known as "the wonder drug." Aunt Millicent herself seemed to be growing quite fond of the pills, seeing as she never left the house without them. Furthermore, Wendy had noticed that such a sudden scare of health brought her aunt to visit the Darlings much more often than usual; certainly it was nerve-racking to be living alone in a house with young Slightly, where if something happened again, there would be little aid. Aunt Millicent had found a new security in the Darling house.

Then there was Wendy's heart, which had not grown bad, but confused.

For you see, after returning home from the Locke manor on that cold and hectic day, Wendy had discovered a small piece of parchment crumpled in her coat pocket. It was certainly not a mere scrap of paper, and when she'd read what had been written on it in haste, she'd felt all together pleased and guilty.

"North of the Round Pond, next Saturday, 1."

William's note was short but clear. And how clever he must have been to both write and tuck it into her pocket without anyone ever noticing. Admittedly, Wendy's initial reaction to his little message was one of contentment—she'd scanned the narrow handwriting on the paper several times, smiling at the thought that she hadn't simply been imagining the spark between them. It was real. But letting aside this rapture, she could still feel her guilty conscience tugging at her heart, reminding her of society's unspoken law. Would Wendy not disturb the social ladder by trying to climb it?

Rather undecided on what to do, she'd placed the note face-down in her vanity drawer, so that every time she went to retrieve a bobby pin, or ring, or necklace, she would see it there resting among her accessories; this morning was no exception. She'd just finished changing into her school uniform and was now seated at her vanity, her lashes lowered to the open drawer. She'd intended to retrieve a pin for her hair, but of course, she'd spotted the note peeking beneath a few jewels, most of which she'd inherited from her own mother.

A week had passed since Aunt Millicent's scare. Which meant a week had passed since the note had been written. Which meant tomorrow was Saturday.

Wendy brushed aside the hairclips and grazed her fingers over the parchment wonderingly. She felt the creases, almost as if she were reading Grail, and finally caught its edge to turn it over.

"Get on it, Wendy!"

She turned her head to the door, letting the note fall back in place.

"Well?" John stood at the doorway, rapping his fingers loudly against the wall. With a slicked-back hairdo, his dark school suit, and that scrutinizing stare, Wendy had taken him as their father at first glance. "Why not take a few more hours deciding what jewelry to wear? We're _only_ twenty minutes late!"

Wendy blinked and stared blankly at John for a moment, taken aback by his sudden—and rather rude—entrance into her room. After narrowing her eyes at him a bit, she turned back to her vanity, picked up one of the hairclips that had been lying on William's note, and shut the drawer quickly.

"_Goodness_, John," she finally spoke to him as she fixed the clip into her hair. "If you're so worried about being late, go on your way."

"Really? _Go on my way_?" John retorted, mimicking Wendy's voice. "Do you suddenly wish not to have the company of your brothers? Are you too stately for us, now that you're _such a good acquaintance_ of the Lockes?"

Wendy whipped back around, setting a wide-eyed glare on him.

"How dare…" she started over her breath. Stammering up in anger, she peeled her eyes away from him and mindlessly took to brushing the lint off her skirt. "I really _don't_ know what's gotten into you, and I don't know _where_ you've come to such an idiotic statement about the Lockes, but I certainly don't want your company, if you're going to be so cross with me. I can walk myself to school."

"Oh come off it, Wendy." John took a step into the room, narrowing his eyes at her. "I've seen the way you've been acting since coming back from the Locke manor. So concerned about your looks. Walking around with a noble expression on your face. Acting as if the chaps nodding their hats at you on the street were invisible. You don't even say a word at the dinner table anymore. Is it that our family conversations are just too unsophisticated for you now?"

"Oh, John, don't you dare!" Wendy demanded, marching toward him in anger. She could hardly believe her ears. "You know I'd never do such things. And if you didn't, I'd wonder whether you've been living under a rock your entire life!"

John looked down at his older sister, who came merely up to his chin, thanks to the abrupt growth spurt he'd experienced just a year ago.

"I'm simply stating what I see," he hissed quietly, tucking his hands coolly into his trouser pockets.

Wendy's burning blue eyes shifted from John's slightly curled mouth to his own dark brown pupils. She knew resorting to accusations would be low, but she was beyond composure.

"You're unbelievable," she sneered. "Do you even realize, you're one to talk? You're just as obsessed about money as father is. You never want to help with the boys, never want to spend time with them. For heaven's sake, you rarely even let them step into your room! _And_ let me remind you, dear brother, that the only reason why we leave so early every morning is because we make a detour of nearly six blocks just so you can escort your little princess to school."

Wendy ended to catch her breath, just as Nibs appeared at the doorway. He peered from her to John with furrowed eyebrows.

"If you and the boys are ready," she went on in a lower voice, "then there's no use in wasting your impatience on me." She went to the edge of her bed and sat down to tighten the laces of her boots, trying to avoid any more confrontation.

There was a long silence before she finally heard John's heavy footsteps leave the room, and when she looked back up from her boots, she saw Nibs still standing at the doorway.

"You better get going," she insisted, trying to tame her shaking voice.

Nibs stared at her a moment longer, with bags under his eyes that strangely made it seem as though he were about to cry. He said nothing, however, and eventually disappeared from the doorway.

Wendy let out an exasperated sigh. She rested a hand gently on her side as the ribs of her corset creaked in accordance to her contracting stomach.

_How dare he say such things_, she thought furiously. Of _course _she didn't think herself superior to anyone. Who did he think she was? Better yet, who did he think _he_ was?

John had gotten his own room just a year after Wendy moved into hers but, unlike her, seemed all too ready to leave the nursery. In fact, it was practically his decision to move, what with all the bickering he went to Mr. and Mrs. Darling with about the other boys' rowdiness. Wendy had noticed that without her lead, he'd grown tired of his brothers' games, and soon, his most prized possession was no longer his wooden sword, but the gold hand watch Mr. Darling had given him for his thirteenth birthday. When their parents had finally heard enough of his complaining, they cleared out Mrs. Darling's tiny sewing niche and put him there—next to his sister. And from then on—as long as he was in the house—this was where he'd spend nearly all his time, save for the occasions he came out to discuss some businesslike matter with Mr. Darling (He'd recently gotten an internship at the bank, which was clearly strengthening their father-son bond.). Much to Wendy's alarm—and she could also see a concern in her mother's eyes—it appeared that John was rapidly approaching adulthood, even prematurely. Of course, he was at an age where a form of maturity was to be learned, but he carried much weight on his shoulders; fulfilling a high expectation at the bank (being the branch manager's son) and maintaining impeccable grades in school (with the ambition of transferring into the London Boys' Academy) couldn't have been easy. Sometimes, when his door wasn't shut, Wendy could glance into the dimness of his room and see him hunched over his desk, working tediously beneath the flickering light of a candle. Other times, when she lay in bed at night, she could hear scratching and bumping against the wall as he drew books on and off his shelf. It seemed there was hardly a time he wasn't working.

And not only that; there was also Susan Crandell. At fifteen years old, _this_ is who Wendy's brother claimed was going to be his future bride—the one he insisted upon walking to school everyday; whose frizzy brown hair and squeaky voice the boys scoffed at as they and Wendy trailed behind on the street; a bashful schoolgirl who simply couldn't resist the sweet-nothings he whispered in her ear and the fresh roses he picked for her in the nearby park. It was as though John bore their relationship in the same light as his work—it had to be perfect. He _had_ to make sure he said the right words, made the right gestures, listened to everything she had to say. It _had_ to be the fairytale pursuit.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"Whatchoo drag me out fo' again? It's bloody sprinkling ou' here ya know!"

William had been looking out across the vast pond for a long time, but finally broke his gaze to answer the question.

"I'm meeting someone," he said, turning to Abram and eyeing the chocolate bar he was obscenely gnawing on. "Haven't you ever heard of etiquette?"

Abram narrowed his eyes at William, but lowered the chocolate bar from his mouth and folded the wrapping back over it. "You mean like the time you got into that dogfight with Andrew in this _very_ park? What I would've given to see that…" His sentence trailed off as he shook his head and laughed, shoving the half-eaten candy bar into his pocket.

William bit gently on his lower lip, relieved that any sign of a wound had finally disappeared. Sure, it'd made him an icon at school, but what could any other stranger on the street have thought?

He looked out across the pond again, where a mist of light fog was beginning to settle. Alright, so maybe it wasn't the _best_ meeting place, but he'd choose a nice patch of the park over the clamor of a tea house or, even more, the restriction of his _own_ house any day.

"So who are we meeting, then?" Abram asked, following William's long gaze. "It has to be someone important, considering the way you're staring as if King Arthur himself were approaching."

Hearing this, William let out an amused grunt. "Wendy Darling," he answered, his eyes still fixed across the pond. "And _we_ aren't meeting her. I _alone_ am meeting her. You're here to keep me company until she comes."

From the corner of his eye, William could see Abram's eyes widening and his jaw dropping slightly.

"Pardon me?" Abram let out, his voice sounding oddly like a yelp. "You've got me out here in the beginnings of a London winter, and I'm just here to keep you entertained until your _real_ company arrives. Bloody hell, Will…" Mumbling to himself quietly, he pulled out his chocolate bar again and resumed eating.

"Come on, Abe, it's not like you're my pawn. I figured it'd be nice to see you again, with you having gone missing and all. That fiancé of yours has nearly swallowed your life whole."

Abram cringed, but he still couldn't help laughing at William's remark. "Swallowed my life whole? I wouldn't put it that morbidly." He stood silent for a moment, looking down at his chocolate bar thoughtfully. "Wendy Darling. Isn't that the girl who came to your house with her sick mother?"

William opened his mouth to speak, but he paused as he spotted a figure coming along the opposite side of the pond.

"It was…her aunt," he answered, although a bit mindlessly. Holding his stare across the pond, he pushed Abram away slightly and added, "She's here."

"Where?" Abram regained the distance he'd lost on William when he was pushed, craning his neck forward and narrowing his eyes at the approaching figure. "Not that middle class girl with the hat…?"

William flicked his eyes back at Abram irritably. "I'll meet back with you later."

Remaining silent, Abram took one more glance at Wendy before turning to leave. "Nice seeing you," he called over his shoulder, strolling away casually.

It wasn't hard for William to catch the sarcasm in his voice, and he stared back at his friend considerately before turning forward again. Loosening the cashmere scarf around his neck a bit and straightening his coat, he started towards Wendy, who was now only a yard or so away. A genuine smile played on his lips as they neared each other, and even through the light fog that was still lingering in the air, he could see Wendy's teeth flashing white as she grinned back at him. She wore a long black coat and a plain dress, and part of her face was shadowed by the brim of her rather cushiony looking hat. She looked nothing like she had at the opera, but she did look a lot like she had the day she came to his home with her mother and aunt—simple. It was, surprisingly enough, what William liked most about her.

"Hello, Mr. Locke." Wendy greeted him when they finally reached each other at the side of the pond. Tilting her chin upwards so that her face was no longer covered by her hat, she looked up at William with bright, round eyes.

"Good afternoon, Miss Darling. I'm very glad you came." William lifted her hand and kissed the back of it, discreetly inhaling the scent of lilac.

"How could I not, after how clever enough you were to have put that note in my pocket?" She smiled and held his stare a moment longer before looking around at their surroundings. To no surprise, there weren't many people around. "This weather is quite unfortunate, I must say. It seems we're going to be having an early winter."

"Yes, I suppose so." William looked down at her, noticing a few tiny drops of mist settled on her lashes. Glancing around, he added rather hesitantly, "We can head towards a teahouse, if you wish."

To this, Wendy shook her head. "Oh, that's quite all right. If you don't mind my saying so…I've spent far too many days in teahouses."

William cracked a smile, delighted by Wendy's response. "All right, then," he said, holding out his arm. "Shall we take a walk?"

Wendy nodded and slipped her arm around his, keeping a respectable space between she and William as they made their way onto a stone path. She was so very well learned.

"You've noticed," William stated, "that each time we've met, there's been some interruption to break us apart." He paused, observing Wendy's nod and smile. "But now that we're here, won't you tell me a bit more about yourself?" He reached over and pulled up the brim of Wendy's hat playfully, so that he could see more of her face.

"Well, you already know I can't play the piano and that I have an Aunt Millicent." Wendy laughed, pulling her hat down properly. "I do live in a house full of mischievous boys. I've seven younger brothers."

William stared down at Wendy, his eyes widening. "Honestly, _seven_? I suppose there's never a quiet moment in your house."

"Yes, those moments are quite rare. The oldest and youngest of them are my only biological siblings, actually. My other brothers are adopted."

"Really? I myself was adopted."

"Were you?" Wendy tilted her head to the side curiously. "Well, you certainly fell into a magnificent family, William."

A smile appeared on William's lips, though it wasn't because Wendy had complimented his family; if he wasn't mistaken, it was the first time she'd called him by his first name.

"Yes," he responded through a sigh, letting his smile fade. "I suppose every time I try to defy my parents' orders, someone should remind me how lucky I am to have been taken in by them in the first place. I can't imagine where I'd be, otherwise."

"I think every child should be reminded of how lucky they are to have loving parents," Wendy replied, her voice a bit distant. She remained silent for a moment—apparently in thought—before speaking again. "It's funny. After the first months of their adoption, my mother and I would tell my brothers how they'd been sent to our home from the stars, that some magical pixies had delivered them right to our window. We never could have admitted that they'd been abandoned by their real mothers and fathers…" Wendy's voice trailed off, and even her eyes now possessed a distant stare. "Of course, they all stopped believing that story as they got older. What's strange is that none of us clearly remember the day we took them in. In _my_ mind, it's almost as if it were a far off dream."

"Well, I think we all tend to forget things, especially as children."

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

A ball of light flashed across the park, passing over a young couple walking along a stone path. It stayed high enough so that its glow was not seen, its bells were unheard, and its fairy dust was untouched by anyone below.

Tinkerbell knew exactly where she was going. She'd been on the same path so many times before that she hardly had to think about it—into earth, through London, across Kensington Gardens, to the Darling house, at the nursery window. The problem had never been finding the place; it was finding the _person_. And heavens, did that little fairy have a big heart. Not once in her countless number of visits to the Darling house did she find what she was looking for, but it never stopped her from trying. The nursery was the only place she could think of finding her beloved Peter Pan, and her hope in finding him had to remain strong, even through his three-year absence.

Landing lightly onto the tree branch stretching in front of the nursery window, Tinkerbell peeked in through the stained glass. She spotted one of the Lost Boys writing at a desk, though she didn't bother trying to identify him. They'd all changed far too much for her to recognize them anymore. The only ones she could still name were the Twins, since, of course, they looked exactly alike. _They_ were settled in the middle of the floor, playing with cards. Another one of the boys was lying on his bed, prodding the ceiling with a closed umbrella. Her gaze flickered from one child to another, and she knew that none of them were Peter.

The vexed fairy slumped down on the branch, crossing her arms and furrowing her eyebrows in thought. Had the Indians' magic even work? And even if it had, would Peter still be able to fly again? Tinkerbell knew that there would be limits to the Indians' magic, but she had still let them send the dream to him, hoping it would help him remember. Neverland was hanging by a thread.

**Author's Note**: _.x.gaspeth.x._ Another chapter!

I want to say how truly flattered I am that people have continued to review and encourage me to continue this story, even through a time when it seemed like I'd abandoned it! I especially want to thank **stants106 **and **kiachan**, 'cause they really were the final boost I needed to crank out this chapter. _.x.loves on them.x._

_.x.more loves on everyone else, too.x. _(including all who reviewed before chapter 13; I only tagged the peeps from chapter 13 and above. XD)

VV

**The Sleeping Creature, IcyPinkOcean, look for the girl with the broken smile, Megan, jo **(I'm honestly wowed by your review _.x.huggles.x._), **Eva Sumpter, Mandaius Meander, embracing, haydenlover19, Avanell **(a naughty Wendy, eh? Shall think about it ) )**, kasmira36, Anna, tinkerflyinbell1210, Akaru-Hime, Mearah-the-Moon, catins, maria, Cheery-O, emillie8cow, Marie Kenobi, Magical Love, Auriela, Lillith Evans, Claire, mabfairy, Shining Star of Valinor, Tristyn, SnarkyKat, Mellem, myxsecretxlove, ashley couch, curlygntx, HwkPeanut08, Elirrina, Katana Blade, kazema, Lysia Croft, misshotness, Ella.**

Oh, and another special thankies to **bellachaos**, who pointed out my idiocy.Teehee. She noticed that Nicholas' age didn't coincide with how I explained the Lockes' situation when they first found Peter/William. So uhh, let's just ignore that little mistake until I get the chance to fix it, yeah? XD


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